


We'll Cast Some Light (You'll Be Alright)

by fondleeds



Category: One Direction, zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Demon Hunters, Demons, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Smut, Violence, i cant believe this took over my entire life, kind of, rip all the homework that i left untouched whilst writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:16:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fondleeds/pseuds/fondleeds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>There’s tense silence, the whole room completely hushed. The other teams on surrounding tables look between each other. Then, Louis pushes himself away from the table noisily, chair scraping. His face is angered and crumpled, red at the ears. The door slams behind him as he rushes out. The surrounding teams look at Harry simultaneously.</em>
</p>
<p><em>“God, Simon is going to kill us if we don’t die on this mission first,” Niall moans into his hands.</em><br/><br/>-<br/>There’s a standard procedure for this. Scan, track, kill. But with a solar eclipse and a Greater Demon with unfinished business looming, the path to keeping England safe from harm becomes complicated and shadowed by mystery and secrets. For Harry and his team, times have never been harder, especially when a few old friends turned foes show up. Harry is left with just over forty days to overcome the hurdle of tension between them and reconcile their past, and figure out just what Louis is hiding from him before it’s too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edi-neil (sweet_trick)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweet_trick/gifts).



> Hello! Wow. Three months later and here I am, posting a 70k fic that I originally planned to be 40k. I'm not sorry.
> 
> This sort of took over my entire life and amidst my final year of high school I happily procrastinated all homework to work on this. But now it's done! I actually finished it on time! Amazing!
> 
> I've written quite a bit of fic before, but this is the first time I'm actually posting anything so I'm just the tinniest bit nervous. Signing up for the exchange also pushed me to actually FINISH something, so that's great. 
> 
> To whom this fic belongs to, I hope you enjoy! I took your prompt and ran absolutely wild with it and tinkered it just the tiniest bit. The result is this crazy mess. Again, I'm not sorry.
> 
> If you do read this, thank you, and I thoroughly hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave me some comments so I can talk to you all.
> 
> Some of the elements in this fic are taken from the Mortal Instruments series or are made up by me, but they'll all be explained!
> 
> Title taken from Crosses by Jose Gonzalez. 
> 
> (warnings for this chapter: depictions of violence)

 

 

**_We'll Cast Some Light (You'll Be Alright)_ **

 

Darkness swallows Harry whole as he drops down into the sewer, murky puddles splashing under his heavy boots and soaking the thick fabric of his jeans. The air is choking and damp with rotten stench, and he zips his padded jacket all the way up to his neck, the metal chilling against the tip of his chin. He forces his gloved hands to move, for his fingers to flick off his scanner and find their way to his flashlight in the freezing air as Liam and Niall drop down beside him, cursing quietly as the tainted water flicks up.

“Can you feel it?” Harry whispers as he turns to them. Their faces look gaunt in the light, and the soft buzz that’s started up in his head makes the brick walls cave in. His team nods, and pull their sanctium blades from their belts.

They start their journey, treading quietly under Hampstead. The only sound is their feet slapping against the hard ground. The bricks are faded and decayed, and the grime crawls upward like crippled fingers hanging on for dear life. Harry’s light shines ahead of him, breath coming out in white puffs and cutting through the little light they have. Niall is treading just behind him, to his left, with Liam behind. He swings around occasionally to check that they aren’t being followed, light springing off the top of the sewer.

As they go deeper, the buzzing begins to press around them. Harry takes his sanctium blade out of his belt and holds it securely in his hand as he moves closer to the wall. The energy is starting to make his head fuzzy, the reek of demons wafting towards them. Harry signals his team to prepare themselves, and breaks into a slow run, keeping his torch low and his feet soft.

Their footsteps echo wetly around them as the team advances, flicking off their torches and relying on touch. Only Liam keeps his torch lit, securing it on the band around his neck to allow himself two hands. Harry’s eyes water at smell of them, and if he hadn’t come into contact with so many he knows he’d be out of his senses by now. He can hear them now too, the spine-tingling chittering and garbled, wet gibberish. They sound like Raveners, and Harry’s eyes narrow at the thought. That would be the fifth lot within the last two weeks. And he has no idea what they’re doing down here.

Harry turns to Niall and Liam and motions for them to keep quiet and ready their weapons. “Watch for the tails, keep yourselves light on your feet. Remember not to stand still, or they’ll get you straight away.” 

Niall replies with a grin and a thumbs up, bleached hair almost looking stark white, whilst Liam pulls a second sanctium from his belt and stays stony faced. Harry can feel their presence, the pulling dark energy and the blackness that suffocates them. They start forward, blades flashing silver in the light as they follow the tunnel, and are met with three quivering demons, dripping in sewer water and slime.

The Raveners turn to them quickly, long tails swishing in hostility and mutated snouts flaring as they snarl. They advance on spider-like legs without a pause, giant bodies scuttling towards them and fangs snapping. Niall unloads his gun straight away on the first one and dodges out of the way as it jumps at him with a screech. Liam’s light swings along the walls and casts sporadic shadows as he meets the second demon head on.

The third Ravener darts toward him, and Harry evades it. He slashes at its front legs, nicking one. The demon growls at him and continues its advance, howling with a guttural sound as it attempts to swipe him back with its barb and rip at him with its fangs. Harry curses as the thing lurches at him, coming close to biting his arm. These things are usually dumb enough that they’ll stab themselves in the neck, but this one seems to know better.

His point is proven as the Ravener grumbles and crawls up on the wall of the sewer and above him, swinging its barb down at him, fangs dripping with slime. Harry curses again and springs out of the way. He throws his blade into the demon’s stomach. It lets out a screech, body shuddering as it drops from the ceiling.

Harry dives out of the way, but feels the tip of the barb catch his cheek and the blood of the demon splash on his jacket. The material sizzles as it rots away. He tugs it off quickly and wipes his face, and his hand comes away sticky with blood. He can just about hear Niall call out to him underneath the scattered noise, but he can barely hear anything else as the howls of the demons blend into each other. The demon before him continues to convulse and screech. Inky liquid exudes and bubbles from its mouth and eyes. Finally, it lets out one long scream and disappears.

Harry turns to Liam just as he plunges his sanctium into the snout of the third Ravener, and another into its side. Its howls echo along the walls, along with its brother, as Niall fires a last shot between its eyes. Bubbling blood seeps from the holes in its body as it collapses. Finally they flicker out of the world, and the night is unnaturally quiet again save for the team’s heavy breathing. Harry wipes his cheek again, smudging crimson up to his ear. His jacket lays fizzling in the mucky water. That was his favourite jacket. Fuck. He clicks his torch back on, and scoops his blade up from where it lies in a tainted puddle.

“You alright?” Liam pants. He peers at Harry’s cheek. “The ichor didn’t get on you?”

“No, I’m alright. Just a scratch from the barb,” Harry assures him.

“Raveners again,” Niall mutters. He puts his guns back into their holsters and gives Harry a pointed look.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know Simon doesn’t tell me much,” Harry says. He kicks his jacket away dejectedly. His cheek stings.

“You’d think he would, with us facing impending death every time we do this,” Liam huffs, leaning against the questionable sewer wall.

Harry turns and starts trudging through the tunnel. “Yeah, well,” he sighs,  “I have no idea what the fuck they were doing down here. Those things get sent to assassinate people, not hang around in sewers.”

“Or abandoned houses in the middle of nowhere,” Liam comments as he falls into step beside him.

“Or all alone in fields,” Niall adds.

“You know I would tell you if I knew anything,” Harry says. His cheek won’t stop bleeding, salt stinging his tongue. “But right now, I don’t. All we know is that for some reason demon activity has spiked over the last few months. Especially Raveners, for no reason. I don’t even think Simon knows what’s happening.”

“That’s what’s freaking me out,” Liam admits, hand resting on his sanctium.

“You know what’s freaking _me_ out?” Niall says. “This fucking sewer. I can’t wait to get back to Old Barnes and eat like, an entire plate of just mashed potato. Then sleep.”

“I just want a shower,” Harry groans, scrunching his nose up at his wet ankles.

“God, me too. This has been such a shit night,” Liam grumbles.

Harry hums in agreement, and they fall into an exhausted silence. They haven’t had a break for weeks, and Harry knows that his team is feeling it. Between the long trips out to the countryside and the constant fighting of demons, his body has been a hollow wreck. He doesn’t know why they can’t send someone from another Inn to deal with the demons further away, but they’re still getting called out to jobs that aren’t even in their district. Maybe Simon is just fucking with them.

Their team is one of the best down London way, but Harry honestly doesn’t see the point in sending them up to Birmingham when there’s an Inn settled in Wolverhampton. And it’s not even that Harry has a problem with helping out and taking out as many demons as he can, because that’s what this job is about and that’s what’s going to keep people safe, it’s just that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go out on these spontaneous missions. He knows that it’s starting to show. He hasn’t let himself get a stupid injury like the one he got tonight in months. He’d almost got himself burned to death with poisonous ichor, for fucks sake.

Harry’s arms protest as he climbs the slippery ladder back up to the surface. Trees hang low around them and the soft sound of the river runs in the distance. Without his jacket, he shivers as they walk to the car. He unclips his belt and throws it over his shoulder. Niall and Liam follow suit, Niall calling shotgun and slipping into the passenger seat as Harry unlocks the door. Liam lies down in the back seat and falls asleep almost immediately. They throw their belts onto the floor in the back. As soon as the car bursts into life- always an uncertainty- Harry cranks the heating up and switches the radio on.

The drive back to Barnes isn’t particularly long, but Harry’s trying to drive with eyes that are stinging and watering, and with blood drying crusted on his face. God, he wants to sleep for two days straight. Niall snores loudly next to him. His face is mushed against his hand, tucked into his jacket. The world whizzes past outside, a blur of streetlights and muted blue. His shitty stereo crackles old jazz interspersed with mumbled chatter, and the heater only just starts to kick in as he turns onto the road that leads into Barnes.

The gates to Old Barnes are open when he finally pulls up. ‘Old’ being the operative word: it’s all lopsided rusted iron and overgrown vines. Niall jolts awake as soon as Harry starts down the overgrown path; his poor car goes through its usual beating as they make their way down the pothole-ridden track towards the Inn. When they finally come to a stop, Niall lets out a sigh of relief and slips out quickly. Liam follows along shortly afterwards, groaning as he stretches and walks ahead. Harry watches their silhouettes fade as they hurry toward the Inn, hands stuffed in their pockets and breath swirling around them like smoke.

He lets out a soft sigh and leans his head against the steering wheel. He tries to clear his head. He doesn’t usually let himself get so caught up in trips like this, because he needs to make sure he does right by his team and by the rest of the Inn. He can’t let emotion cloud his judgement, can’t let his fear and exhaustion overtake him. Simon calls him the unofficial leader of the Inn’s many teams, though he only usually works with his own. Simon says it’s because he’s good at approaching conflict, that he knows how to plan, how to make sure no one gets hurt. And Harry knows that he’ll always put his team’s safety first, before his own. His team is what matters to him.

For some reason, tonight he feels like staying out in his car and hiding.

But he needs to have a shower. And eat, probably. And it’s fucking freezing out here.

He locks the door behind him and trudges through the thick grass. The lights of the Inn shine out warmly towards him like a beacon, their yellow glow pouring out of the old church and the adjoining buildings. He stumbles over a broken tombstone like routine, huffing and pulling his arms tighter around himself.

Old Barnes Cemetery is an overgrown mess, where the trees have grown and wrapped themselves around warped statues of angels, and where the remaining tombstones are stumbled upon like stumps. The old church looms high in the middle of the sprawling yard, broken gargoyles and stained glass filtered in the light. It was abandoned for years before Simon got a hold of it.

In the winter the fog rolls in, harsh and unforgiving at dawn, a wet blanket of ice and blindness until the sun manages to melt it away. There’s always an unnatural quietness surrounding it. It’s sealed from the view of those who don’t know where it is by the overhanging trees, and it’s long been plagued by spirits from the scattered graves. It’s a grotesque garden, an overwhelming surrounding, but it’s home. It’s been Harry’s home for a long time.

He makes his way inside and breathes in the pleasant musk of the ancient carpet lining the floor. The chandeliers above cast a soft shine around the hall. The ceiling is high and the walls are lined with old paintings. He can hear the distant rumble of conversation and cutlery clinking, and his stomach grumbles. He desperately needs to have a shower though, first.

And he needs to make it past Simon’s office without being heard. Dammit.

He creeps past as quietly as possible, praying that he can just brief Simon on the mission tomorrow and escape.

Just as he’s tiptoeing past the giant wooden double doors to the office, he hears a muffled voice from within. “Harry.”

Dammit.

He sighs and tries not to be too self-conscious about the blood on his face. Simon’s seen him in a much worse state before.

Harry pushes the door open with his shoulder, peaking his head inside. The room is lit with candles, mounted to the wall with thick iron. Similar to the hallway, the floor is covered with a regal, lush carpet. The fireplace roars in the corner, lighting the silhouettes of two armchairs in front of it. Its warmth is welcome. On the far wall, the entire surface is filled with books, falling apart in their binding from age. Simon sits at his desk at the back of the room, giving Harry a pointed look over the top of his glasses. He looks like he’s in the middle of writing a letter, the very picture of poised opulence.

“Hello,” Harry greets awkwardly.

“Come in,” Simon puts his pen down gently. Harry sighs again internally at the command. He walks forward sheepishly to the desk, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. “You’ve got blood all over yourself.”

“More Raveners,” Harry says. “Only a scratch.”

“I figured,” Simon replies. Harry grits his teeth. _He figured_. Could have told him that before he led his team down into a bloody sewer with three of the things.

“We took care of it,” Harry says, trying to get himself out of here, soon.

“I don’t doubt it,” Simon replies, picking up his pen and going back to writing. Harry claps his hands together and squeezes his fingers. Not so soon, then.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Harry says casually, “About the missions you’ve been sending us on-”

“I don’t know why there’s been an influx in demons in the last few months, if that’s what you’re asking,” Simon interrupts, looking at Harry again over his glasses, black hair shimmering with grey. “But I do know that I can’t let them go unattended.”

“I know that, but-”

“Harry,” Simon says sternly.

“I don’t want to put my team in danger anymore,” Harry exclaims.

Simon blinks at him for a moment, then shakes his head and lets out a soft chuckle. “Harry, my dear boy, your team is in danger with every breath they take. They’d be in even more danger if I let all these demons go unchecked.”

“I can’t be taking my team three hours out of Barnes with no preparation,” Harry argues, trying to negotiate any information out of the older man. “Unless you can give me a reason to, and tell me what’s going on, send a message to the Wolverhampton Inn. And it’s not just about Liam and Niall, we’re all a team here. We need to work together.”

He tries not to put too much emphasis on the _we_ , as in _you, Simon_. Because nothing runs around here without him.

Simon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, just watching him for a moment. Then he sighs and leans down to pull one of his draws open with a rattle.

“If you can tell me what this means,” Simon says, holding out a folder towards him, “Then you and your team can stop the long commutes.”

Harry flicks open the folder, furrowing his brows at the dark pictures printed on each page. They’re symbols, all the same but in different places. Places that aren’t in their district, either. The symbol is sharp, all jagged edges like teeth and bleeding lips. It looks like a smirk. Harry feels his stomach churning, and he closes the folder gingerly.

“What do you already know?” Harry mutters, putting the folder back onto the desk.

“There’s been five of these found across the country so far, one in each district. The sporadic appearance of the demons is happening everywhere, not just here. I’ve been communicating with the other districts, and we think there’s two more symbols, for this district and the Wolverhampton district that haven’t been found.” Simon replies.

“Is that why you’re sending us to Birmingham?” Harry asks, rubbing his eyes. God, he needs to get some shut-eye.

“I thought I’d send you and your team to help them out,” Simon says.

Harry feels lethargic all the sudden, and pulls a chair up to sit opposite Simon, leaning his elbows on his desk. Simon only looks mildly offended.

“Why seven?” Harry ponders, opening the folder again and holding up one of the slips of paper, blocking Simon’s face.

“I don’t know,” Simon says, and Harry peers at him over the top of the page. His face is grave and sunken in around the eyes. “I really don’t know.’

Harry nods slowly. He places the folder back on the desk and slides it across to Simon wordlessly.

“You should go get cleaned up, have something to eat,” Simon suggests, giving him a small smile which Harry struggles to return.

He can’t help but be worried about this. There’s something that he can’t quite put his finger on, something that feels unnatural and unbalanced. There’s just this presence, he thinks, a thought lingering on the edge of his brain sitting idly and taunting. He sees the twisted smile again and closes his eyes briefly before wishing Simon a soft good night and slipping back into the hallway.

Harry skips past the kitchen in favour of heading straight to the dorms and to his room for a fresh set of clothes and a shower. He curses softly when his door creaks open, cold air filtering in through the window he’s accidentally left open. Blue, hazy light turns everything steel and sapphire, patterns scattered and laying themselves parallel along his tiny bed. The night is a mirage, and Harry slouches his way into his shoebox of a bathroom. He hisses through his teeth when he slips off his boots and touches his toes to the icy tiles.

Harry glances into the mirror at his face, wincing at the deep wine coloured stains running along the majority of his left cheek. The wound isn’t particularly large, but it looks deep and frayed at the edges. He looks a little frayed himself, hair tangled and the unusual paleness that’s settled underneath his skin illuminated by the small skylight above him.

Leaving the fan off, he leaves his slightly sodden clothes in a heap in the corner and turns the shower on full blast, steam rising upwards. He lets his head hang backward so the water runs along his neck and chest, almost to the point of burning and leaving his skin tainted red. He tilts his head gently under the spray and the blood on his face runs in tear tracks down his skin, slithering down his body. It stings, badly, but he clenches his teeth and lets the water wash it away.

The whole room is filled with steam when he finally shuts off the water, moisture clinging to the tiles in delicate droplets and the mirror depicting warped images. The air is like a wet blanket and Harry takes deep breaths, cheeks flushed red and skin sticky with humidity. He lets the hot air flood into his bedroom as he makes a beeline for his dresser, pulling out thick trackie bottoms, a hoodie and socks to stop his teeth chattering. 

The Inn is hushed as he walks back towards the dining room, late hours and high moon pulling the others into their beds. Harry guesses that he and the boys were the last to come back tonight, and everyone else has long since retired for the night. He can hear a clock ticking somewhere, its deep click echoing through the hall.

Liam and Niall are still waiting up for him when he enters the dining room, both with giant mugs of steaming hot chocolate in a death grip and a packet of chocolate chip cookies between them. A few girls from another team are also still awake, leant over what looks like a map of some kind. Harry gives them a small nod and heads into the kitchen, pulling out the remains of the leftover lasagne from last night out and popping it into the microwave.

The dining room is communal and cosy, multiple mismatched tables and chairs scattered and pushed together. The lights are a bright white, softened by warm yellow from the lamps and candles. Unlike the rest of the Inn, the walls are dotted with splashes of colour, maps and silly drawings and pictures. Some of the pictures have been pinned to the walls since Harry first arrived when he was much younger, and the whole place feels familiar.

He holds the container with the very tips of his fingers as the cheese bubbles and steams, making his way over to where Liam and Niall are talking quietly to one another.

“So, did Simon interrogate you?” Niall asks, crumbs scattered around his mouth.

“Just a tad,” Harry says absently, pulling his lasagne apart with his fork.

“Any useful information?”

Harry frowns down at his pasta. “I wouldn’t exactly call it _useful_ , but he tried to explain what he could.”

“And did this explanation-oh, bloody hell,” Liam sighs as the cookie he was dunking falls apart and lands in his cup of hot chocolate in a soggy mess. 

“I told you not to leave it in there too long, you never listen,” Niall chastises.

“Anyway, did this explanation include why we’ve been travelling here, there and everywhere recently?” Liam asks. He pushes his mug away sadly.

“Kind of. They’re trying to figure out why there’s been so many demons popping up. The other Inns think it could have something to do with this symbol that teams have been finding in other districts.”

“Symbol?” Niall raises an eyebrow, slurping his hot chocolate noisily.

“Mhm,” Harry mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“Weird,” Liam leans his chin on his hands and furrows his brow.

His cheek is starting to sting again. He probably should have rubbed ointment onto the damn thing when he was up in his dorm. Liam and Niall carry on a quiet conversation as Harry eats. His eyes are heavy and his head is starting to ache with exhaustion. He’s staring off into the distance absently when his eyes flick to the corner of the room and he almost chokes on his pasta.

Liam and Niall give him a strange look, turning in their seats in an extremely indiscreet manner before turning back around with blank faces.

“What the fuck? Did you know he was there the whole time?” Harry whispers fiercely. 

“What?” Niall exclaims innocently. “We thought you would have seen him when you came in.”

Harry swears under his breath and peeks around the side of Niall’s shoulder.

That’s definitely Zayn, no denying it. Harry has no idea when he got here, or why he’s here. He looks almost exactly the same as he did when Harry last saw him a few years ago. His hair is longer and his frame is a bit thinner, but he looks so familiar that Harry’s stomach twists into knots.

Zayn is leant over a book that looks big enough to crush someone’ toes, sipping on what looks like a thermos of soup. His hair is soft and raven against his forehead, lashes casting shadows along his cheeks and the inside of his nose. Harry can’t help but stare, and can’t help but work himself into a blind panic, because Zayn never goes anywhere without-

“He isn’t here,” Liam says softly, nudging Harry’s arm across the table. “I can see you trying not to chuck that lasagne back up.”

“Are you sure?” Harry whispers, hiding behind Niall’s body again.

“We haven’t seen him, and neither has anyone else,” Niall shrugs, finishing his hot chocolate off loudly.

“This has been a fucking night,” Harry murmurs.

He leans around Niall again, only this time Zayn is already looking at him. His face is neutral and his eyes are blinking owlishly. Harry’s heart leaps into his throat, and his blood simmers quietly in the background, just in the distance. They share a long, painfully awkward and charged stare before Zayn scoops up his book and thermos and slinks out of the room through one of the other side doors without a word.

Harry breathes out shakily and looks down at the scratched up tabletop, trying to stop all of the memories flooding back in and drowning him under the weight of the night he’s had.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: dumb boys being assholes

Harry’s body clock pulls him out of a restless sleep at seven o’clock. He can feel the cold air hovering around him as he blinks his eyes open and tries to sink further into the warm cocoon of blankets he’s wrapped himself in. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, trying to piece together the fragments of a strange dream and his memories of the night before. Unsettled, and frankly unable to lay still any longer, he braves the morning chill and pushes his duvet aside. He digs around in his wardrobe for warm clothes before making his way to the kitchen.

His boots clunk down the silent hall. The Inn is quiet as he hunches his shoulders in his thick coat and tugs his beanie even lower over his ears. He stops in the kitchen to make a giant cup of herbal tea, the kettle whistling obnoxiously loud in the hush of the morning. Harry rubs the sleep from his eyes as he waits, squeezing out the tea bags and dropping them into the bin.

Old Barnes is an entirely different world in the daylight. At night, the trees seem oppressive. They hang low over walls and tap against windows in the wind. But now, as Harry begins his walk through the grounds, they sway and open a path and reach down for him gently to whisper _good morning._ The grounds are awash in a mix of reds and browns, the green quickly fading as autumn consumes the foliage whole.

Harry steps over crumpled tombstones and treads carefully over the few remaining flowers sprouting among the dewy grass as he trudges through the trees. Sunlight threatens to break through the clouds, but all that gets through is a trickle of blotchy yellow. Harry breathes in the damp earth and sips his tea, and tries to clear his mind.

But it never really is that easy. All Harry’s brain wants to do is flick back to Zayn’s face from the night before, and then further back, years ago, to the thick fog and the mud caking their legs and how lost and helpless they’d been. And then to-. No. _Not going there_.

The icy air begins to sting Harry’s cheek, and he heads back inside once he’s completed a full circuit of the cemetery. The Inn is slowly stirring into life. Distant conversation greets him as he slips back inside the church. On his way back to his room, he passes one of the younger groups. They’re dressed in their hunting clothes and their belts are secured tightly around their waists.

“Good luck,” Harry says to the group leader, a boy named Ed with red hair and soft eyes that curve in.

“Thanks,” he replies, freckled face twisting into a grin, patting Harry’s shoulder as he walks past.

In the bathroom, he rubs more ointment onto his cheek. A bruise is beginning to form beneath the cut. Having gingerly shaved and given his hair a cursory comb, Harry makes his way to the kitchen for breakfast. He can hear the white noise of multiple conversations before he even turns the corner. The sun is beginning to rise; its bright light spills through the windows, finally.

Liam is in the kitchen, surrounded by a few cartons of eggs and a giant tower of bacon. Someone’s pushed all the tables together, so everyone is lined up in a long row and passing bowls, salt and pepper, and ketchup up and down. The chatter is vibrant and Harry sees and hears it all in vivid colour, comfort settling deep into his bones.

“Any left for me?” says Harry by way of greeting. He leans his head on Liam’s shoulder to peek at the eggs bubbling in the pan.

“‘Course,” Liam says. He flips the eggs and adds another rash of bacon to a separate pan, steam billowing upwards as it sizzles. “Morning.”

“Feeling okay?” Harry leans his back against the counter and crosses his arms. There are circles under Liam’s eyes and he looks pale, washed out. There are fresh creases from his blankets running across his arms.

“Yeah, fine. Slept pretty shit though,” he shrugs and bends over to grab another paper plate from the cupboard. He slides two eggs and some bacon onto Harry’s plate. “Simon was asking after you before.”

“Already?” Harry says. He retrieves a mismatched knife and fork from the cutlery drawer.

“Something about a meeting this afternoon. He didn’t say much,” Liam says.

“With the whole Inn?” Harry jumps up onto the counter so he can balance his plate on his knees.

“No, just our team,” Liam says, quietly, and with a nervous glance in Harry’s direction.

Harry’s chewing slows. He lowers his fork. “Liam…”

“Which now includes Zayn,” Liam adds quickly, wincing as Harry chokes on his eggs.

“ _What?_ ” he exclaims.

“Don’t shoot the messenger!” Liam points his spatula at Harry accusingly.

“Did Simon explain _why_?” Harry rubs a hand over his face. He just can’t catch a break at the moment.

“Does Simon ever explain _anything_?” Liam retorts.

Harry suddenly doesn’t feel very hungry any more. He hops off the counter and dumps his plate in the bin, then throws his cutlery into the sink. It batters and clangs loudly against whatever else is in there as Harry leaves, the sound resonating through him. The conversation in the room pauses at the noise, and a few curious heads follow him as he storms out moodily.

He slams the door of his room behind him and leans against it, taking deep breaths before moving to the bathroom to tend to his wounds. This is all too much. Simon’s being vague, as per usual. The stress of that, of the unknown, of- Zayn. It’s overwhelming.

Harry spends the remainder of his morning and well into the afternoon in bed, chasing sleep. It’s one of those rare occasions when Simon hasn’t already got another mission lined up for them, and Harry can spend the day dozing instead of meticulously planning their every move.

His quiet is interrupted eventually, when Liam sticks his head in the door at three o’clock and gives Harry an old-fashioned look.

“How long have you been in bed?” he says.

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry sits up and rubs his eyes. “I’m up now.”

They walk through the halls in silence. Liam looks tense. His face is unsmiling and his arms are folded. Harry stares at the patterns on the rugs and tries to keep his eyes open.

Liam knocks on Simon’s door before entering, hinges creaking. Lucent, sharp light cuts through the panes of the windows and lights the stained glass. Niall is already there. He’s leaning over Simon’s shoulder at his desk, looking like he’s also just woken up.

Harry stops when he spots Zayn sitting cross-legged in an armchair by the fire. He’s flicking through an old book and pointedly avoiding Harry’s eye. The door closes with a solid _thunk_ , and Zayn haughtily flips a cardboard-like page that groans at the turn. Harry waits and tries to prepare himself for what’s to come.

“Good morning,” Simon stands from his desk and walks around to lean on its front. “Or should I say, good afternoon.”

“Thought I’d take advantage of a day off,” Harry says carefully. He’s aware of Zayn, who’s sitting statue-still in the corner.

“I think we all did,” Niall says, running a hand through his mussed hair and taking a seat on the sofa, to be joined by Liam a moment later. Harry feels very isolated, like they’re watching his every move.

“I’m afraid there probably won’t be any more of those for a while,” Simon says.

Harry raises an eyebrow in silent question.

“I’ll explain when we’re all here,” Simon sighs, scratching his nail against the wood of his desk. Harry looks round the room.

“Are we not all here?” he asks.

There’s a tense silence. Liam and Niall look away uncomfortably. Harry clenches his teeth together.

“Not yet, no,” Simon says. “Why don’t you sit down?”

The only spare seat is next to Zayn. Who’s given up pretending Harry’s not here and is staring straight at him, eyes a touch smug and a touch too intense for Harry’s liking.

“I’m alright,” Harry says. He stares right back at Zayn.

Simon clears his throat awkwardly.

“You should sit,” Zayn says, honey eyes matching his voice. It’s the first time either one of them has said anything to the other in at least two years. Harry had forgotten how soothing his voice was, how lulling and full of copper. Liam and Niall exchange a glance.

Harry wants to reply with a snarky _why should I,_ but then the giant doors to Simon’s office are rumbling and creaking and a shivering body tumbles inside. And he knows why.

Harry turns and feels his stomach leap into his throat. Because there, wrapped up in a thick coat and a woolen beanie, with fogged-up glasses and a styrofoam cup clutched desperately in his hands, is Louis.

Harry’s insides flare.

“Oh,” Louis says. He scrunches his nose and sniffles, rubbing his fist over his cheek to scratch it.

“Hey, Lou,” Zayn’s voice comes from behind Harry. He can’t stop staring.

“Hiya, Z,” Louis replies absently. They’re staring at each other now, both fully aware of the buzzing energy zipping around the room. Louis’ eyes are narrowed and electric, the rings of his irises made dark by the frames of his glasses. He pulls his beanie off to reveal soft brown hair sticking up with static. Harry’s eyes harden.

“Louis,” Simon greets. He pushes past Harry to shake Louis’ hand. The hostility is broken then, and Harry blinks and turns away as their muffled greeting washes over him. He moves slowly to the seat next to Zayn. Liam gives him another pointed look.

“Drive was alright?” Simon says.

“Yeah, until I got here, that road really gives it to you,” Louis remarks. He shrugs off his coat and sniffles again.

“Yes, well,” Simon begins, before he clears his throat and gestures for Louis to hang his coat up.

Beside him, Zayn closes his book slowly and gives Harry a sideways glance, mouth pressed into a line.

“Lads,” Louis addresses them. Well, mostly Liam and Niall. “How’re you doing? It’s been too long.”

“Eh, alright,” Niall shrugs, leaning against the arm of the sofa with his head leant against his palm. “Crazy busy right now, shit’s stirring up down this way.”

“I can see that,” Louis observes, with a leveled look in Harry’s direction. He can feel his cheeks burning, stinging. “Your agility still lacking, Styles?”

Harry grits his teeth, heat crawling up his neck and he locks his fingers together tightly in his lap. “I-”

“Alright,” Simon interrupts. “Let’s get down to business. That’s why we’re here.”

Harry can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He glares at Louis as he moves to sit on the armrest of the opposite couch. Louis sniffles again, scratches at his nose, and swiftly looks away as he raises his cup to his lips.

Simon lets out a sigh, closing his eyes briefly before he moves to his desk to pick up a pile of paper and coloured folders. Harry runs his tongue over his teeth and rattles his brain for any answer, any solution as to why Louis and Zayn have suddenly shown up out of the blue. He wants to know why they’ve come, why they thought they _could_. 

“Before I say anything, I want to show these to you. This got sent in to me this morning, from the satellite station in Worcestershire,” Simon says. A piece of paper is handed out to all of them.

When Harry glances down, his stomach curls unpleasantly.

“What in the world,” Liam mutters. He traces his fingers over the red, concentrated splotches on the page.

It’s a picture from one of the satellite scanners, taken two days ago. Normally Harry sees these images concentrated on one district, zoomed right up close at the tiny clusters that might appear. What he has in front of him is the entirety of country, lit up like Christmas lights. It’s mostly yellow and green, but it’s _there_. And then there’s the red patches, wine stained prints hanging heavy over the south-east. Over them. There’s spots of black too, up in the Wolverhampton district. Over Redditch, Manchester. Over most of Cheshire.

“We don’t know how, or why, but they’re coming. Something is coming,” Simon says grimly.

“How are they all getting through at once?” Louis asks as he pushes his glasses up his nose.

“That’s the thing. The Shield is completely fine, nothing’s been weakened.”

“Maybe they’re stronger,” Zayn comments, toying with the corner of his paper.                          

“There’s something else I need to show you,” Simon says. He hands a folder to Zayn. “The symbol that might be in the Wolverhampton district still hasn’t been found. But a group found this in Devon last night.”

Zayn takes in a long breath beside him as his eyes flick over the page. Harry leans closer. It’s a symbol, similar to what they’ve already seen. Except this time the mouth is whole, full, spiked teeth inside the rim of the dark circle.

“Agramon,” Zayn mutters. He looks around the room at the others.

Harry’s fingers twitch. He’d only read about It in ancient books, a demon of fear, who transformed into a person’s greatest nightmares. It needn’t be violent because it scared you to death. But according to the little reading Harry had, Agramon hadn’t been on earth for hundreds of years. He was destroyed and sent back out into the Void in fragments.

“There is one theory I have,” Simon speaks into the deadly silent room. “Perhaps, if it is the case, Agramon is already here. It has been for some time. And It’s been pulling other demons to earth.”

“But how could It already be on earth? It would take longer than it has for It to reconstruct,” Louis argues.

“Maybe It never left. A fragment could still be trapped here somewhere. Which is why I’m sending you back to Wolverhampton. The demon activity is spiking there. Agramon could be trying to glue Itself back together,” Simon says.

They’re all silent as they try to process the information.

And, if things couldn’t get any worse at this point, Simon adds quietly, “There’s also a solar eclipse in just over forty days.”

“Oh, bloody hell!” Louis exclaims. “Why are we only just hearing about this?”

“Because I didn’t have enough information to give you,” Simon explains. “You’re most effective now.”

“Most effective?” Louis splutters. “Let me get this straight. You’ve given us just over a month to keep the giant influx of demons coming in under control, track down one of the most powerful demons to ever exist before it destroys us all during a _solar eclipse_ , and you’ve somehow thought that pairing us with this lot is a good idea? How is that _effective_?”

“Have some respect,” Harry grits out before he can catch his tongue. Louis’ head snaps to look at him. Liam and Niall both shoot him a wide-eyed, warning look.

“Oh, come off it,” he huffs. “Just because you’re too much of a bloody pushover to even question this bullshit.”

“He’s doing his job, you prick,” Harry snaps. “I don’t see you coming up with any grand solutions. You shouldn’t have signed up for this job if you aren’t willing to get your hands dirty.”

“Oh, I’m willing,” Louis shoots back, shifting towards him threateningly.

“Enough!” Simon shouts, blazing eyes flickering between the two of them. “I’ve brought you together because I know that if anyone can handle this, it’s you five. I’ve worked with you all for a long time, and I know that you can find it deep, _deep_ , down,” he passes a scathing glare to Louis, “in your hearts to show some bloody maturity and responsibility about this. And to get along with each other like I remember.”

Louis slides off the arm rest and moves to collect his coat and beanie in a huff. The large doors slam behind him as he launches himself out of the room and stomps through the hallway.

“He’ll come around,” Zayn says after a moment of tense silence. His voice is awkwardly light and airy for the feeling in the room.

“I’m giving you a mission. Redditch in two days. The Wolverhampton Inn is sending some spot teams out around the area and further north,” Simon snaps, stalking behind his desk. “The other teams here will keep a lookout in our district. You’re dismissed.”

With that, he sits down firmly, snatches up a pen and begins to write hastily. Liam brushes himself off awkwardly and leaves, followed by Niall, reluctantly peeling himself away from the sofa. Harry stays put and keeps his scowl on the fireplace, waiting for Zayn to leave.

When he’s finally alone with Simon, the air practically static, he speaks up. He keeps his eyes trained on the ashes of the fire. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

“I don’t think I do, actually.”

Harry clenches his jaw and swings around, looking over his shoulder and resting his arm along the back of the couch. Simon raises an eyebrow at his expression.

“Why them?” Harry says.

“Why not?” Simon counters. Harry can feel the anger searing through him.

“Simon,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Harry.”

Harry lets out a frustrated sound and drags his palms over his face. Simon has the audacity to chuckle. Bastard.

“Why do you think?” Simon laughs, though this time there’s little humour behind it. “You’re all amazingly skilled at what you do, more so than any other team I’ve worked with-”

“We aren’t a _team_ ,” he spits.

“But you used to be,” Simon says, and Harry rolls his eyes to cover the pang of reminiscence that sparks. Like he needs to be reminded of that.

“Emphasis there on the past tense,” he mutters bitterly.

“I really think that together you can-”

“Liam almost _died!_ ” Harry cuts Simon’s annoyingly soft voice off. “All because of _him_ , because it’s always about him and how he just ignores everyone else’s safety and needs. Because he thinks he’s just the best there’s ever been, and that he can do whatever he fucking likes!”

“I’m aware of what happened,” Simon says lowly, his eyes darkening. “But I think you’ve all grown a lot since then. I know you can handle this. You don’t always have to be the leader. You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

Harry looks away and sinks down into the cushions.

“Please, at least _try_ to be civil with each other,” Simon pleads. “This is bigger than us. There’s more resting on this than what’s happened in the past.”

Harry closes his eyes and breathes out. Memories run through his mind. He clenches his fists, lets them go slowly, and whispers softly, ‘fine.’ 

-

Harry’s dreams are plagued with inky shadows and flashes of red, silent save for the buzzing in his ears. His morning walk around the grounds feels like he’s still in a dream. His tea goes cold and the dewy grass licks at his ankles. Icy cold has settled over them, turning everything into an emerald and ruby gem, glistening and damp. It manifests inside of him too, seeps into his shoes and flows upwards and circulates. He feels so cold. The biting air makes his skin tingle and his cheeks sting.

The Inn’s atmosphere has noticeably shifted too. The others sense the tension that has emerged at the arrival of Louis and Zayn. Voices become hushed and cautious whenever he enters the room. They know something isn’t quite right, that there’s something that they aren’t been told. Harry knows it’s only a matter of time before they do know, and things will slowly descend into internal panic. Right now, they don’t know enough. They don’t really know anything. Perhaps that’s a reason to be panicking.

But Harry can’t. Not yet. Not when he can already sense it in Liam, who has been poking at his breakfast and scratching his fingers against the skin around his thumbs all morning. They’re tucked away in the dining room. The sky is as gloomy as they feel, clouds painting the dining room in greys and off blues. They rest their legs together unconsciously and hunch in to face each other so they’re turned away from the rest of the room. Niall is still in bed.

“I spoke to Zayn,” Liam says, and Harry looks up from inspecting the dint in his bowl. “After we talked to Simon. He came up to me, actually.”

“Mm?” Harry says. The stress has shrunk his attention span right down; he struggles to stay focused on what Liam’s saying.

“He just asked me how I was, what I’d been doing since…you know,” Liam avoids Harry’s eyes.

“Let’s not talk about it,” Harry says, nudging Liam’s foot. They don’t talk about it, ever, really. They’d discussed it and fretted over plenty directly after. It was better to forget.

“Yeah,” Liam huffs a laugh. They both have a mouthful of food at the same time. Then, Liam looks up suddenly, eyes wide and one cheek still bulged from his food.

“Morning,” Zayn says, his voice all silken and gentle. Harry turns in his seat to offer a begrudged reply, but remains silent when he sees Louis standing there too with a sour and distant expression and a giant bowl of cereal in his hands. He’s wearing a giant blue sweater, fuzzy and stark against his tan skin.

“Morning,” Liam eventually replies, only a tad awkward.

“Mind if we sit?” Zayn asks, already pulling out the chair beside Harry.

“Sure,” Liam stutters, wincing as Louis’ chair scrapes against the floor, the boy plonking down next to him. Harry tries his hardest not to glare, and to ignore the curious looks from the others in the room.

They sit in complete silence for the first few minutes, Zayn picking his toast apart with his fingers, whilst Louis shovels cereal into his mouth. Harry wrinkles his nose, noticing the various colours and types in the bowl.

“What is that,” he says flatly, before he can catch himself. He sees Liam close his eyes briefly and sigh.

Louis takes a moment to realise that it’s him that’s been spoken too. He swallows his mouthful and looks down at his bowl, then back up at Harry, then back down again, completely ignoring him. 

He proceeds to take another massive spoonful, chewing loudly.

“Morning all!” Niall bellows, slamming his chair down at the head of the table. Louis chokes slightly in surprise, and Harry smiles.

“Morning, Niall,” he says happily. Louis seethes at him. Whatever. At this point, he just doesn’t care.

“How’re we all feeling about tomorrow, then?” Niall asks, resting his elbows on the table and leaning in. This proceeds to bring the mood down just a touch.

Louis flat out groans. “I’m still so tired from the drive yesterday.”

Harry’s hand tightens around his spoon. “I think we should start planning as soon as we can.”

“I agree,” Liam says, looking carefully between Louis and Harry.

“Over breakfast, really? Bit of a dark topic of conversation for this early in the day,” Louis sniffs.

“Yes, really,” Harry says sternly.

“Bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” Louis remarks with a smile.

“Not at all,” Harry grits out. “Unless you want things to go wrong.”

“Clearly you need some tips then, Styles,” Louis says sweetly, gesturing to Harry’s cheek. The other boys look between them, Zayn kicking Louis under the table.

“It’s not like I fucking asked for it,” Harry hisses. “Some of us do get injured from time to time, but I guess you wouldn’t know about that. You’re way too perfect for that, aren’t you, Louis?”

Louis’ mouth click shut, lips pressed into a thin line. Their eyes are cold. Looking at Louis after so long sends electricity through his entire body. He’d forgotten the dusting of barely there freckles on his nose and cheeks and the deep blue of his eyes. He’d tried to forget him all together, in the beginning. Things never really did work out that way.

“So…the mission,” Niall cuts through the silence. “Any ideas on our approach?”

“I vote we split up,” Louis says slowly, eyes finally sliding away from Harry to Niall. “If we pick anything up on the scanners we com each other. Simon can get the place scanned before we go too. That map gave us a pretty good idea of what’s there, though. Then it’s just a matter of extermination.”

“Splitting up is the worst thing we could possibly do in this situation,” Harry argues. “We need to stay together. If that scanner was right there’s going to be lots of activity up there. We’re safer and more efficient together. And we can’t just kill them all. They could lead us to a symbol.”

“We’ll get through more of them if we work separately,” Louis argues back, not missing a beat.

“Not if there’s two of us on four demon’s at once. We don’t even know what kind they’ll be,” Harry exclaims.

“I can handle it,” Louis huffs.

“Don’t be a twat.” 

“I think I know what I-“

“You don’t know shit!” Harry fumes. “If what Zayn says is right, that they might be getting stronger, there is no way I’m letting my team split up in unfamiliar territory.”

“Oh, _your_ team, is it?” Louis scoffs.

“Do you care about anyone but yourself? Or are you actually just the most selfish person I’ve ever met?”

“ _Guys_ ,” Liam says, holding his hands out between them with a bewildered look. Harry lets out a shaky breath, falling back into his seat. He didn’t even realize he’d been leaning out of it. Louis does the same, eyes on the table, face blank.

There’s tense silence, the whole room completely hushed. The other teams on surrounding tables look between each other. Then, Louis pushes himself away from the table noisily, chair scraping. His face is angered and crumpled, red at the ears. The door slams behind him as he rushes out. The surrounding teams look at Harry simultaneously.

“God, Simon is going to kill us if we don’t die on this mission first,” Niall moans into his hands.

“We’ll be fine,” Harry snaps, unintentionally. Niall gives him a look, before grabbing Liam and leaving.

Harry and Zayn sit side by side in silence, watching the dining room slowly clear out as the teams go about business. When they’re alone, Zayn turns slowly to look at him, face passive and soft.

“He still hates himself for it,” he says almost conversationally, and Harry blinks at him. Zayn’s eyes are so calm, lashes brushing his cheeks with every blink. “He’s been…different, since Leeds.”

“I think we all are,” Harry murmurs, resting his hands together on the table. He knows that night changed his whole perspective on this job, on his team and his life.

“Then I don’t think you should be too harsh on him,” Zayn says, and before Harry can protest he adds quietly, “Just like I told him not to be too harsh on you.”

“And how’s that working out?” Harry laughs bitterly.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to talk to each other at all, so I suppose some communication is better than none,” Zayn says with a little grin.

Harry huffs a laugh. “Not too sure about that.”

“Just give him some time to settle in. I’m sure you can agree that this is all…very overwhelming,” Zayn says, standing up and stretching his arms above his head.

“That’s an understatement,” Harry mutters.

“I’ll see you later,” is Zayn’s reply, warm eyes curving into a smile. Harry returns it, and it feels foreign.

“Yeah, see you.”

He’s finally alone, dim light curving inward and painting shadows. In the frigid air, Harry drops his head into his cold hands and bites his tongue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: depictions of violence, blood

The drive to Redditch is completely silent, only the patter of rain on the windscreen fills the unsettled air. Harry can feel the anxiety oozing off every one of them. He doesn’t have a good feeling about this one.

Yesterday had been hell. Louis had taken his car and fled for the day to God knows where. He’d returned for dinner, fingernails dirty and eyes hollow. They’d ignored each other completely, twirling spaghetti on their forks absently. Harry had been so fucking antsy, because Louis had completely disregarded any planning that Harry had put forward that morning. They were going into this almost blind and completely unprepared, and Harry hated it.

He’d barely eaten today, stomach churning as flickers of images played through his head, things that could go wrong. It’s dark out now, clock just flicked over to eleven. They’re all dressed in their hunting gear, thick black fabric and padded jackets. It had been a shock seeing Louis in his gear again, lethal and compact, hard edges and stony expression. His belt is loaded with thick knives, two of them laced with symbols. Currently, he’s wedged between Liam and Zayn in the backseat looking less than pleased, Niall calling shotgun before they’d even left the Inn.   

Thunder booms above them in the distance, but the rain is thankfully still a light drizzle. When they finally park the car, piling out after one another, Harry’s unease lifts his stomach into his throat. It’s quiet, unsettlingly so. Everything is still, murky light flickering in the street. Their car sits alone. Harry’s breath curls around him, and he lifts his hood up against the rain.

“Scanners out, com’s on,” Harry whispers. The team pull their scanners from their belts, little beeps echoing as the blue screens come to life. Harry looks to Louis, shadows under his eyes and covering his nose as the light springs upward. They look ghoulish and unnatural.

“Lead the way, Styles,” Louis says, huffing in the cold. He zips his jacket up all the way and pulls his hood over tightly.

They head down towards Vine Street, scanners letting off little beeps here and there. Harry can’t help but keep flicking his eyes left and right, waiting for something to jump out at him, fear gripping the back of his neck. The pubs and restaurants are closed, lights off and murky looking.

“It’s like no one lives here at all,” Niall comments as he peers through the window of a flower store as they walk past.

“Something’s not right,” Harry murmurs, looking down at his scanner. There’s nothing there so far.

Their footsteps are the only sound as they turn right onto Vine Street, apartments dead. They blend into the night, faces the only speck of colour as they drift. Harry almost jumps when his scanner starts beeping rapidly, the others following suit.

“This way,” Harry says. He turns down an alleyway.

“I thought the activity here was supposed to be spiked,” Zayn’s voice floats over him, walking at the back with Liam.

Harry frowns down at his scanner, at the singular dot.

“Let’s just keep going,” Harry says over his shoulder, Niall right behind him followed by Louis.

They keep walking through the alley, until they emerge on Church Road and the little red dot is just across the street. Harry stares down at it, then lifts his eyes slowly.

St. Stephens resides in the centre of a green garden, one tall pointed tower stabbing upward at the sky. The church faces them and looms high, lit only by the steel of the foggy moon and a faded mustard street lamp, bricks dark and muddy. 

“That’s impossible,” Liam breathes. The five of them are lined up along the curb, heads all raised high as they take in the building before them.

Chilled air is gripping at Harry’s spine, making him rigid. He can’t get his mind thinking straight. There’s something disturbing happening here, something so incredibly _off_ that Harry feels nausea crawl up the back of his throat.

They move forward slowly, the beeping of their scanners getting louder, more rapid. They cross the pathway and step onto the ground.

And all is silent again, scanners fading to dull blue.

“Um,” Niall glances nervously towards Harry.

“We should split up and search the grounds,” Louis says, already tucking his scanner away. He’s facing forward, and all Harry can see is the tip of his nose and stray pieces of hair peeking out from his hood.

“No,” Harry answers, stern. “No one is splitting up. Something isn’t right here.”

“Well, we’re never going to find out what that something is by standing here, are we?”

And then he just takes off, just like that. Harry seethes, fists clenching. He makes to go after him, but Niall arm against his chest stops him.

“Let him go, Zayn can go with him,” Niall says softly. He pushes Harry’s frozen body backwards. “ _Harry_ , come on.”

Harry casts one last warning look in Zayn’s direction before he gestures for Niall and Liam to follow him, pulling his sanctium blade from his belt forcefully.

Niall and Liam hurry to fall into step beside him. They circle the edge of the property, gliding among the few trees and statues, looking for anything. The stone angels are cast in metallic light, eyes hollow with shadow. Harry runs his hand along one as he walks past, and he swears the eyes are following his movements. He shudders.

His com crackles suddenly, and Zayn’s whispered voice comes through. “Centre of the grounds, near the rotunda. There’s someone here.”

“Civilian?” Harry questions, signalling for Liam and Niall to follow. He sticks to the outside of the property and makes his way back into the middle.

“I don’t know.”

Making their way back into the grounds, Harry can see a fountain in the distance, Louis and Zayn standing in front. The water is running on low, a distant dribble of sound that Harry hadn’t picked up before. The woman on the statue looks down, pouring water from a vase. It’s faded, parts riddled with grime. His feet squelch against the grass, mud flicking up on the backs of his leg. The rain comes down harder now, droplets pelting again his hood.

“Where are they?” Harry whispers when he reaches Louis and Zayn, voice almost lost in the weather. Louis ignores him entirely, arms crossed over his chest and face vacant.

“The bench, just across the lawn there,” Zayn murmurs, gesturing with a tilt of his head. Harry peaks around the fountain. He can see him, in the distance. A man, dressed in a suit, seated on a park bench, staring up at the sky. Harry realizes that that’s the first person they’ve seen all night. The only sign of any actual inhabitants.

He decides to investigate, and slips his sanctium blade back into his belt.

They approach slowly, but the man makes no movement, shows no indication that he even notices their presence.

When they come to a stop in front of him, Harry notices the vacant nature of his eyes, unfocused and staring at nothing. His face is sagged, features set apart awkwardly and one shoulder slumped down. Dark hair is matted to his head by the rain.

“Sir?” Harry says tentatively, stepping a little closer. The man’s suit is grimy, loose threads everywhere, like he’s been rolling around in the mud.

The man doesn’t respond verbally, but his head lolls forward suddenly, resting partly again on of his shoulders. Harry jumps a little, taking a step back at the sudden movement. The man’s eyes are wide and blank, bloodshot.

“You alright, mate?” Louis questions. He steps in front of Harry and waves his hand in front of the man’s face, then he pokes his shoulder roughly. Harry’s face twitches in annoyance.

But then they’re all jumping back, because the man suddenly lurches forward, like a puppet on a string with loose limbs. Out of reflex, Louis draws his sanctium from his belt, as does Liam.

The man lets out a gurgled sound, swaying in his half bent over position, legs wobbling and arms hanging uselessly. Something is wrong, something is so, so wrong.

“Back up, everyone get back,” he shouts. Thunder shakes the ground, and the rain becomes vicious. Louis stays where he is, blade held out at the man, back straight and chest heaving. “Louis, move!”

The man stands, somehow, and Harry can hear the crackling of bones underneath the torrents of water. He’s shaky and swaying, but he stands. And then he lifts a loose, lifeless arm up, and points at Louis.

“What the fuck,” Liam whimpers behind him.

The things face twists into what Harry thinks is supposed to be a smile, but it’s all wrong, like there’s no control over the muscles or the skin. The eyes are dark and the man’s teeth are pointed. Louis still hasn’t moved, and Harry realizes that he’s frozen in fear.

Zayn leaps past him and grabs onto the back of Louis’ jacket, wrenching him away-

Just as the man starts to convulse, and his skin starts to tear. Black, inky liquid oozes from the rips, the muscles expanding and growing larger. They all stand in shock, slowly backing away as the thing starts to scream, garbled nonsense as it twitches and turns inky.

The first giant leg that comes striking out causes them all to start. It’s huge, with pointed claws and distorted joints, crushing the bench behind it. And then three more emerge, and the thing just keeps growing, acidic stench burning Harry’s throat.

His head is buzzing. So loudly.

“Kill it! Before it grows more!” Zayn’s voice echoes over the rain, but it’s so faint, so distant. Lighting cracks and splits the sky, and Harry gapes at the horror in front of him, at the thing that has come to life.

It’s absolutely giant, almost twice the size and width of the rotunda. Its stomach bulges, giant clawed limbs covered in slime and hair. Its face is so contorted, giant fangs crossing over, face squished together with layers of skin. Harry doesn’t even know if it has eyes. He can barely see anything through the rain. There are long, spindly like tentacles erupting from the things back, glinting barbs attached to them like a Raveners.

He needs to think of something, and quickly.

Very quickly, because the thing advances, screeching.

“Watch it!” He calls as he pulls a second blade from his belt. Its legs shake the ground like thunder, looming over them as it rears upward, bellowing into the storm.

They split as it charges at them, avoiding the giant feet and snapping mouth. Harry’s heartbeat is in his ears. He realizes then that Louis is next to him, eyes wide like saucers. Niall, Liam and Zayn are on the other side of the beast.

The first shots of Niall’s gun ring out through the night, and the demon growls, turning on the other three. The things tentacles swipe down towards them and fling putrid slime onto their clothes. The stench makes Harry gag, but thankfully it doesn’t seem to be poisonous.

Through the rain, he makes out Zayn sliding beneath the demons snout, moving agile and lithe underneath it and flicking his daggers into its legs. It screeches, but seems unaffected by the regular blades. They’ll have to use sanctiums if this thing is too powerful. 

He turns to Louis, face pale. “ _Listen_ to me. Don’t use your regular blades. Follow Zayn, get underneath it and tear its stomach open, make sure you’re out of the way if it bleeds. Don’t go back for your blade if you can’t.”

Louis blinks up at him, nodding slowly. Then, he pulls his blades from his belt and advances wordlessly, dodging around the tentacles. Harry follows and swings around the demons left side. He can still hear Niall’s guns, and can see the rivers of ichor running out of the holes in its flesh. The ground is muddy and sticky, and Harry somehow manages to keep his footing as he runs his blade along the leg of the demon.

He registers Louis running past him, throwing his blade into the demon’s stomach. The roar rattles his head, and he has to dive out of the way of the things foot flailing out at him. The demon starts to lash out, turning around rapidly and swinging its tentacles wildly, thrashing. He hears the thud of a tentacle hitting something, and then Niall is screaming and Harry is running, almost slipping through the mess of the demons insides as he tries to reach him.

He’s losing sight of everyone. He has no idea where Liam is, if he’s around the other side or behind Harry. He catches a flash of Zayn, too quick for him to register.

“Niall!” He calls out, trying to see through the rain. The demon’s disjointed garbles are flooding everything, and its smell is making Harry dizzy. He can’t see Niall anywhere.

“Harry!”

That’s Louis’ voice. He turns, and ducks just as one of the tentacles whips past above him. His stomach lurches as he hears is flash past. Then he’s running again. The thing seems no weaker than when they first started to attack it. Harry has to fix this, and fast.

Another tentacle whizzes past him and he rolls out of the way. Then he gets an idea. He takes one of his smaller daggers from his belt, weighing it in his palm before he launches it through the air. It hits the demon in its side, and it turns, tentacles swinging as it swivels.

Harry grabs onto one, fingers almost slipping at the slime squelches beneath him fingers.

But he hangs on.

And the demon loses it, scream ripped from its throat as it tries to shake him.

He waits, pulls himself in close and blinks against the acid and the icicles of his wet hair. He looks down, and then he lets go.

The things back is fury and greasy, and Harry scrambles to his knees, pulling his sanctium blade out and lunging forward.

He stabs the demon in the centre of its head, both hands clutching the hilt of his blade. He launches himself over the top and keeps his hands on the blade as he flips forward. The blade slices disjointedly through the things face, getting caught on bone and muscle as it goes down. It gets jammed between the things teeth and Harry’s shoulders jerk, hands finally letting the blade go as he falls in an awkward heap.

The demon howls, and Harry can’t move, head spinning and body buzzing from the fall. Then there are hands grabbing him and pulling him away, just as the things face begins to split apart, its insides splattering against the wet ground, bubbling ink gurgling, fizzing as it melts the earth. 

Harry holds down the bile in his throat as the demon’s face falls apart, it’s giant body staggering. It’s so quiet all of the sudden. The thing collapses on its side, face contorted and shredded. He’s sprawled on his back, and he manages to get himself into a sitting position with only a slight wince.

“Did it get on you?”

Harry looks up, startled. Louis. His jacket is torn open along his chest and one of his arms, hair matted to his head

“I’m fine,” he chokes out. “Where are the others?”

The demon begins to steam, rancid gunk oozing out it sides. Finally, it begins to shudder, and its body quivers as it fades away.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, wincing as his touches a hand to his arm. It comes away deep red. “ _Fuck_.”

“Harry!”

He rolls himself onto his hands and knees and picks himself up slowly to follow Liam’s voice. He’s across the lawn towards the rotunda, on his knees and leaning over Niall, who doesn’t seem to be moving. Fuck. Zayn is there too, rubbing something over his arms, jacket thrown to the ground.

They’re all caked in mud, and Harry tries to breathe as he walks, tries to shake the rattled feeling in his body. Louis follows behind him silently, cradling his arm.

“Niall,” Harry murmurs. He drops to his knees in front of him, hands hovering awkwardly. His eyes are open, but they’re dazed.

“’M okay,” he rasps, shifting, faced screwed up. “Winded, ‘s all.”

There’s a gash on the side of his head, red trickling into blonde. Harry looks up to Zayn, ointment coating his arms. There’s a burn on his forearm, most likely from ichor. Harry’s stomach lurches as he looks around at them all. Then he snaps his head to Louis.

“Why did you touch it?” He hisses, emotion bubbling over.

Louis gapes at him. “I saved your life! Twice, you fucking asshole!”

“You shouldn’t have touched it!” Harry shouts, rising to his feet.

“It would have attacked us either way,” Louis snarls, coming close and pushing at Harry’s chest.

Harry moves to retaliate, but then Zayn is between them, pushing them both back. “Both of you, stop! We’ve just fought a giant fucking demon and now you seriously want to have a go at each other?”

Harry’s chest heaves, legs like jelly from when he’d landed. Louis lets out a strangled huff and turns away, the muscles in his neck straining. Zayn shoots Harry a murderous look, before he leans down and helps Niall into a sitting position. Harry glances at Liam, who looks physically unharmed, though his face is a white sheet, hand resting on Niall’s shoulder.

“I’m going to go find the blades,” Harry sighs. The missing weight of his knives is throwing his balance off.

“Louis’ already gone,” Liam says, eyes trained outward on the ground. Harry looks over his shoulder. Louis is walking back towards the church, shoulders hunched over.

Harry lets out a long breath.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Zayn says quietly, eyes trained on the ground. “I mean, I’d read that they could…”

“Transform into people?” Liam says, shaky.

“Transform,” Zayn says darkly, then lifts his eyes to Harry. “Inhabit, too.”

“So that man…he’s dead?” Liam asks, and it’s so childlike, so open and scared. But Harry understands it, feels it. Civilian casualties are bad.

“I don’t know,” Zayn says. “I don’t particularly want to know the answer to that.”

“I want to know how it got here. It shouldn’t be on these grounds,” Harry says.

“Unless someone granted it passage,” Zayn mutters. “Unless someone opened it to the Void.”

It’s silent then, just Niall’s wheezing breath.

“Who would do that?” Liam questions.

Again, silence. Because none of them have any answers, have any clue to what just happened.

“We need to get back to the Inn,” Harry decides. He holds his hand out to Niall. “Are you alright to walk?”

“Yeah,” Niall croaks, taking Harry’s hand. He leans against Liam’s shoulder anyway once he’s up.

“Wait,” Liam blinks, stopping. “Where’s Louis?”

Harry frowns, and looks out over the ground. Louis is nowhere to be seen. “I thought you said he was picking up the sanctiums.”

“Well, I thought he was,” Liam says meekly.

But Louis is nowhere in sight. Just the shattered remains of the park bench and the ripped up, disturbed lawn lay ahead of them before the church looms high.

“He might be back at the car already,” Zayn says.

“I’ll take a look around, get Niall to the car and get him some dry clothes from the boot,” Harry instructs, starting forward.

“Can I trust you not to kill each other if you do cross paths?” Zayn raises an eyebrow.

“Com me if you find him before I do,” Harry grumbles. He heads back towards the fountain.

The rain has slowly eased away, droplets falling sporadically and gentle. Water trickles from the leaves and down the trees like drain pipes. Harry feels sticky and uncomfortable in his clothes, mud drying and crusted. At least it’s not blood.

The trees are thicker towards the back of the property, folding in over the top of each other. It’s not like Old Barnes though, where everything is overgrown and nature has taken the tombstones and the statues, claimed them as their own and curled themselves around the stone. Everything is still so real here, so alive and present.

He wonders what will happen tomorrow, when the residents go for a walk and come across the ruined lawn and the shattered bench and wonder what happened. Maybe they’ll think it was vandals, a group of bored teenagers. It always unsettles Harry, how little they know. How close death can come to them.

He almost gets lost in thought, to the point where he nearly walks right past Louis, off in the distance.

He’s completely still, arms by his side and staring straight ahead at the statue of an angel. His eyes are unmoving, focused and fixed in place.

“Louis,” Harry says, walking among the trees, running his hands along the damp bark. “Let’s go.”

But Louis doesn’t respond, just ignores him. As Harry gets closer, he tries to keep his anger down.

“We need to get back to the Inn, to the infirmary,” Harry grits out. “Niall needs to be properly looked at.”

Still no response.

“ _Louis,_ ” Harry growls.

He finally reaches him, about to push him along if he refuses to talk. But then Harry follows Louis’ line of sight, and he freezes.

It’s the symbol. The one that Simon had shown them. Agramon. Harry glances up at Louis. He’s just staring at it, face blank. He looks like he’s in a trance.

“Louis…” Harry whispers. Goosebumps rise on his skin. He pulls out his com. “Zayn, Louis found the symbol.”

“We’re back at the car,” Zayn’s voice crackles through a moment later. “Where is it?”

“At the back of the property, it’s engraved in one of the angel statues,” Harry says. “We’ll be-“

And Harry breaks off, because Louis makes a sudden, jerky movement, and places his palm flat against the symbol.

“Harry?” Zayn’s voice buzzes. But it’s so muffled, because Louis’ eyes are wide, so wide, and his whole body starts to shake. Harry gapes.

Then Louis drops to the damp ground, a guttural cry ripped from his throat as he shudders.

“Harry! What’s happening?”

Harry drops his com, rushing to Louis’ side, trying to restrain him. His eyes are rolling in his head, whole body twitching, tiny, distressed sounds pulled from his throat.

“Oh my God,” Harry whispers, pinning down Louis’ shoulders. “Stop! Louis, _stop_.”

He doesn’t know what’s happening.

“ _No!_ ” Louis is crying out suddenly, face screwed up as his arms and legs thrash. Harry shuffles back, startled. “Leave them alone! No, no!”

And then, brokenly, so brokenly, “Mum! Mum, please!”

Harry stares in horror as Louis cries, eyes wide and blurry, pupils dilating as his body flails and shudders.

Then it’s over, and Louis stares up at the sky vacantly, body shaking gently.

Harry can hear Zayn shouting over the com, but it’s all so blurry, so fuzzy. He crawls forward, resting a tentative hand on Louis’ shoulder.

“Louis, can you hear me?” He asks. “Louis?”

The boy doesn’t respond, just shakes, mouth slightly parted. Harry tries again, shaking him gently. Louis’ eyes are so blank, but so wide, saucers filled with fear. He grabs his com and attaches it to his belt. Then slowly, carefully, he slides his arms underneath Louis’ legs and shoulders, and lifts him up. He’s absolutely freezing, icy skin tinged grey.

Harry’s body screams at him, bruised and battered, but he keeps going.

As he makes his way through the trees, he looks back over his shoulder at the statue.

Louis’ bloody hand print rests in the middle of the symbol, the angel looking down on them in the shadows.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis hasn’t stopped shaking. They’re ten minutes out from Old Barnes, and Louis hasn’t stopped shaking for the entire drive. Niall is in the front passenger seat, wrapped up in blankets, almost asleep. Liam is driving, grip white knuckled as he turns another corner shakily, car shuttering. Harry is in the back seat with Zayn, Louis lying across their laps.

His head is resting on Zayn’s legs, eyes open and unseeing, unmoving. Harry’s hands rest against his legs to try and keep him still as the car moves.

He hasn’t stopped shaking.

“We’re almost there, Lou,” Zayn whispers, running a hand through soft hair. The burn on his arm is bubbled. It needs more ointment. “Just hold on.”

Zayn had been distraught when Harry had finally made it back to the car, on the verge of collapsing with Louis shuddering and unresponsive cradled in his arms. Zayn’s voice had echoed through the street as he yelled and ushered them into the car. He hasn’t stopped stroking Louis’ hair and keeps his hands resting on his shoulders.

It’s so late now, or maybe it’s considered early morning at this point. The black sky is becoming gradient with soft greys and the hope of yellow sun. The road into the cemetery jostles them all, and Harry closes his eyes against the pain in his legs and the ache in his bones. Louis barely even blinks as the car rattles. They’d taken his jacket off to look at his wound. Fortunately his chest isn’t injured, but the cut on his arm is still bleeding slightly, sticky and shining.

The exterior light is still on when they pull up along the crunching gravel, but the church is silent. Not for long though.

Harry steps out of the car, reaching inside for Louis. Zayn helps to manoeuvre him out, then goes around the front for Niall. Liam is already running inside, calling out for Simon and one of their nurses. Harry shifts his arms around Louis’ body and lifts him gently. The grass sticks to his feet as he hurries toward the Inn. He takes extra care not to trip on his regular stone.

He’s about ten metres away when Liam appears in the doorway, followed by a dishevelled looking Simon, bleary eyed and grey. They hold the door open as Harry rushes inside, Louis’ shivering body cradled against his chest.

He doesn’t even stop to talk to Simon, just heads left straight towards the infirmary. He pushes the door open with the back of his shoulder and settles Louis down onto one of the beds softly. The room is a dull white, four beds lining the walls on either side and decorated with mismatched coloured sheets and pillows, everything in soft pastels.

Louis looks up at the ceiling, mouth agape.

“Harry, what the bloody hell,” Simon charges in, the other three boys in tow, “explain, _now_.”

“What’s all this racket?” A soft voice says. One of their nurses, Amelia, who’s also on one of the hunting teams, emerges from the door at the back of the room in her robes. Harry’s been close with her since he was younger. She’s a bright women, with brown, curly hair and clear dark skin, warm eyes and a warmer heart. He doesn’t get to see her enough now.

She comes forward, eyes flicking between all of them. Then they rest on Louis. “Oh my. What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” Harry stutters, and for some reason he feels like crying, exhaustion running over his body in currents. “Ami, something’s wrong.”

Amelia walks forward, mouth in a thin line as she looks at Louis’ vacant eyes. “What happened, love?”

“He just walked off on his own, like he always does,” Harry tries to keep his voice down, he really does.

“It’s not his fault,” Zayn growls.

“But he-“

“Harry, enough!” Simon yells, eyes livid. “I understand you two don’t see eye to eye but you can’t put the blame on him for everything. You two need to figure out a way to balance your relationship when you’re on a mission. Or you’ll all end up dead.”

They’re all silent, and Harry’s eyes prickle.

“What happened to him, dear?” Amelia’s voice breaks through the night, cautious as she leans over Louis and rests her hands against his cheeks. She’s looking into his eyes, brows furrowed.

“We found one of those symbols. He was just…staring at it,” Harry explains shakily. “He reached out and touched it before I could stop him.”

“What did he do after that?” Amelia asks softly, bending over to grab one of the medical boxes from underneath the bed. She starts to clean the wound on his arm.

“I don’t know how to describe it. He just dropped, started shaking and screaming and thrashing around,” Harry says, throat thick.

Amelia’s frown deepens, hands lifting slowly from Louis’ shaking body.

“I think he might have been possessed,” Amelia whispers, backing away.

“What? What do you mean?” Zayn surges forward, eyes wild. “How?”

“Something overtook him, his mind or his body, I can’t be sure. I think that would explain why he’s so…” Amelia gestures to him, to his pale, fidgeting body. “His eyes keep dilating, like he isn’t seeing properly. Whatever was in there is gone now, but it’ll take a few days for him to get back to normal.”

It must have been his mind. Because if it had of been his body…well, they’d already seen what that looked like.

“All of you, get your injuries checked and report back to my office,” Simon commands lowly, storming from the room.

“He’ll get better, right?” Zayn asks, voice soft but frantic. “He’ll be okay?”

“Yes, love, he’ll be alright,” Amelia smiles gently, then zeros in on his arm. “Sit down, I’ll get you boys cleaned up. Let me just change quickly first.”

She hurries into the back, door clicking closed softly. Harry almost collapses onto one of the beds, exhaustion gripping his bones. Niall eases himself down, face morphed into a wince as he manoeuvres himself so that he can lie down.

“I think my ribs are fucked,” he states, resting his palm over the top of his shirt.  Zayn sits down next to Harry and leans his elbows on his knees.

“Hopefully it’s just bruising,” he says. “This is not how I expected tonight would go.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry blurts, stomach twisting. “I failed you all.”

“Don’t be a wanker,” Niall says, turning his head to look at him. “It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault.”

They rest in their little circle and try not to think about Louis behind them, the way his eyes are dull and blank and still open. The little tremors that run through his body. Zayn’s arm has turned a nasty purplish colour.

“Look at us, we’re in a right state,” Liam huffs an awkward laugh. “Haven’t seen us all like this since…”

He trails off, lips twisting into his mouth. Harry closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose. This all seems too familiar. Except that Liam was lying next to Louis, too. And there was more blood. So much blood. He can still see the gaping hole in Liam’s side, and he knows that there’s a scar running down Zayn’s back. He knows that Louis’ is covered in them, underneath his shirt, along the tops of his soft thighs. Harry blinks, clearing his throat and pulling himself out of his head.

Amelia emerges then, carrying a rattling box of what looks like ointments and tablets.

“C’mon then, loves. We don’t want to keep Simon waiting, do we?”

-

Niall’s ribs are in fact bruised, and Amelia screams bloody murder when he tries to get up to follow them as they leave to meet with Simon. He scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, wincing as he touches his ribs. Harry knows how much he hates confinement.

They leave reluctantly, Zayn’s arm treated and wrapped up. The three of them trudge toward Simon’s office, dim light casting the painting in shadow. For the first time in a while, Harry feels shrouded by the dust and dimness that lines the corridors. Perhaps it’s just the sluggishness of his brain right now that’s making him see everything all fuzzy.

When they shuffle into Simon’s office, he already has three chairs set up in front of his desk. The fire crackles in the corner, freshly lit.

“Where’s Niall?” He asks.

“Bruised ribs,” Liam says carefully.

Simon breathes in deeply. “Sit. Tell me what happened.”

They pull out their chairs, and again Harry’s muscles shake as he lets his feet rest.

“The place was completely empty, despite what the radar was telling us,” Zayn starts. “We only got one reading, and the scanner showed it at St. Stephens. But when we started to search the grounds it disappeared.”

“One reading?” Simon asks, brow set deep.

“The whole place was empty. No cars, lights off everywhere. It was just weird,” Liam explains.

“The only person we did see turned out not to be a person at all,” Harry says softly, eyes trained on the patterned rug below him.

“A demon? In human form?” Simon’s eyebrows raise. “What did it look like, move like?”

“Like a puppet,” Zayn says. “Like it was on strings. It sort of just, lolled about. It was in the form of a man.”

“And it was on church grounds?”

The three boys nod.

“I think I know why the demon activity showed up hot on the radar, but the place was so empty,” Zayn says, features drawn together in concentration. “Maybe those symbols are where the Void is being opened up, which is why Redditch showed so much activity.”

“And once they’re in they scatter,” Harry says, mind whirring.

“Exactly,” Zayn turns to him. “They wouldn’t stay there if the radar is picking it up as spiked because of the symbol.”

“That man,” Liam says, then pauses and grimaces, “the demon. Do you think it could have been guarding the grounds?”

“Surely it would have attacked us though, right?” Harry says. “It wouldn’t have let us wander like that. Like it was waiting.”

“What caused it to transform back into a demon?” Simon questions, leant back in his chair with his arms crossed, watching their exchange.

“Louis touched it, poked its shoulder,” Zayn explains. “Then it stood up, sort of. It-.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. Zayn looks hard at the desk.

“It smiled,” Liam breathes. “More of a grimace, really. And it pointed at Louis.”

Simon is silent for a moment, his features settling into cautiousness. “Do you think it was Agramon?”

“No,” Zayn shakes his head. “It was barely holding itself together when it was human. Agramon would be much stronger than that.”

Harry thinks back to hours ago, the unsettling cold and darkness that cloaked the town. There was something that was just not right, that held his neck tightly and ran a soft finger down his spine.

“I think It was there,” Harry says. Liam and Zayn turn to look at him. “There was just this presence, something that felt really wrong and sickly. You said that It could still be in fragments, right?”

“It’s possible,” Simon nods.

“Maybe It’s drawn to the symbol,” Harry suggests. “Maybe that’s why the radar is scanning so much red.”

“How did It get there in the first place then?” Zayn says, frustration clawing its way out. “If Agramon isn’t drawing the symbols, then what is?”

None of them have an answer. Harry wants to get to the bottom of this right now, so it can be solved and nobody else will get hurt. He’s sick of people getting hurt.

“Go to bed, you need rest,” Simon says eventually. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. I’ll write to the other districts to keep their guards up.”

Harry’s bones creak as he stands, wincing from the thought of the bruises he’s going to have tomorrow. They file back out into the hall with slumped shoulders.

“This situation is fucked,” Zayn grumbles. “When we catch this thing, I’m making sure _every_ last disgusting scrap is thrown back into the Void.”

They split off in their respective directions, aching for soft sheets. Harry leans back against his door as it clicks shut behind him gently. The moon is shrouded in cloud, inky darkness muffling everything inside. He strips out of his clothes as he stumbles towards his bed. He falls down in a mess of tangled hair and rumpled blankets. He slips under the covers and attempts to tuck the duvet into his sides, secure and safe. Exhaustion holds his body down to the mattress. His nose and forehead feel clogged and heavy.

Finally, he lets out a long breath and closes his burning eyes.

Except that sleep doesn’t come.

He lies there for what must be an hour, body slowly shutting down. But his brain is still buzzing with the echoes of gurgled screams, and Louis’. Each time he closes his eyes, he can feel a phantom breath on the back of his neck, making his hair tickle his ears. He can hear the faint ticking of a clock, but the more he listens the louder it seems, reverberating and pounding.

There’s a sudden flash of light outside, and Harry sits up in his bed as the rain starts again.

He scrambles out of his sheets, tugging his drawers open and pulling out a jumper and pants.

The kitchen is icy cold. Harry digs his socked feet into the tiles and waits for the kettle to boil. Leaning back against the bench with his arms crossed, he stares out the window and tries to decipher the shadows.

When the kettle begins to whistle obnoxiously, he flicks it off and pours the steaming water into his mug with one hand and rubs his eyes with the other. He clutches the cup in both hands to try and get a little warmth and stares at a crack in the tiles.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

Harry jolts, cup almost falling out of his hands as hot liquid spills over the side and dribbles down his fingers.

“Fuck sake,” Harry breathes, whirling to see Zayn standing behind him. He shakes his hands out, sucking the tea off them. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says absently as he moves past him to reach up into one of the cabinets. He pulls out a box of Cornflakes and hops up onto the counter, shovelling a handful into his mouth.

His hair is a mess, hanging soft and swooped on his forehead like Harry hasn’t seen for years. He’s also not wearing socks.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” Harry says, heart finally calming.

“A little,” Zayn shrugs, words slurred through his next mouthful. “Still a bit numb, honestly.”

“Mm,” Harry hums. They share a glance. Harry takes a sip of his tea. Zayn eats another handful of cereal. Then it pops into Harry’s head. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Did Louis know his mother?”

Zayn’s hand freezes inside the cereal box, then he slowly retracts it, looking at Harry sideways.

“We never talked about our families that much,” Harry says. “No one does, really. I thought you might know.”

“Why?” Zayn says, mouth in a thin line, but a curious glint in his eyes.

“When he was…, y’know,” Harry starts, gesturing with his hands. Zayn blinks slowly at him. “He was calling out to her. He was telling someone to leave ‘them’ alone.”

Zayn says nothing for a long time, mouth pulled between his teeth.

“All I know is what Louis’ told me. Which isn’t much,” Zayn shrugs. “He never knew her, went straight into the Inn at Sheffield when he was little, before he came here. Didn’t have any siblings. I don’t know. Like you said, nobody really discusses their family.”

“But then who was he talking about?” Harry frowns, asking the question mostly to himself. His mind tries to piece together any little piece of information that he’d gathered over the last few years. But the more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure that Louis never said anything about his family. Harry had only told him about his mum, once, back when they’d trusted each other with more than their lives.

“Amelia said he was possessed, maybe he was just seeing random things,” Zayn suggests. “It probably doesn’t mean anything.

Harry sighs, turning around and dumping the rest of his tea in the sink. “Yeah, probably.’

-

Louis’ condition doesn’t change over the next few days. His eyes are closed now, but tiny tremors still run through his body every now and again. He looks pale, veins stark against his skin and around his forehead. Zayn is quieter than usual and he bothers Amelia every spare moment of the day to try something else to get him to wake up.

Harry is caught between being incredibly pissed off and worried out of his mind. On the one hand, Louis had gone off by himself as he usually did, thinking himself invincible to anything. He’d touched that man and wandered off again. And then he’d touched the symbol. Harry knows he can’t really blame him for that if he was possessed. But then there are feelings of gratitude seeping in as well. Louis had saved him from injury, twice.

He feels like he barely sees the rest of the boys or anyone else. He’s too caught up in his own head.

They still haven’t found any symbols in their district, and it’s making Harry lose his bloody mind. The radar is showing high activity, but there’s only demons waiting for them, no engravings or hints and clues. The tension in the Inn is almost unbearable. Everyone is bruised and battered and exhausted, going out almost every day.

He knows that Simon is stressed out too, getting messages from other districts about the sheer amount of demons they’re trying to handle, the amount of civilian masks they’ve had to construct. There’s been one death, a boy from way up in Newcastle. The news reached them yesterday, and everyone had been solemn, hushed, stayed in their rooms.

And what’s even more frustrating, is that Simon is keeping his team here. Harry wants to go, wants to help everyone and get rid of these things. But Simon has them on lockdown until Louis wakes up. It’s driving Harry absolutely mad. As much as he complains about some jobs, he can’t stand being trapped like this. The Inn seems smaller and gazes seem sharper. He knows everyone is curious, wants to know every little detail about what happened in Redditch. Harry is reluctant to tell.

All in all, the following week is absolute horseshit.

Niall manages to fuck up his ribs again, training too hard on the weight machines. He’d claimed that the ointments and medicine had healed him completely in three days. Amelia had called bullshit on it. She was right, as she usually was. Harry knows it’s because he’s antsy and trapped, just like Harry feels. But Niall always manages to take it another step further.

“How many times do I have to tell you you’re not superhuman?” Amelia sighs, rubbing shiny ointment over Niall’s ribs.

They’re sat in the infirmary, Niall on the edge of one of the beds and leaning back on his palms, Harry beside him. It’s late in the afternoon, and Harry can smell the curry that Liam is cooking from here.

“But I am,” Niall says brightly. Amelia raises an eyebrow at him and presses her hand down. “ _Ow_.”

“Are you sure?” Harry muses.

“I’ll get back to you,” Niall winces, tugging his shirt back over his head.

“I look forward to it,” Amelia laughs, whacking Niall upside the head gently. Niall grumbles, but says nothing as she starts to pack the ointment back into one of the plastic tubs.

“You know what I’m looking forward to?” Niall announces. Amelia makes a vaguely amused and interested noise. “Liam’s curry tonight. Group cook-ups are _the_ shit. I-“

There’s a sudden, ragged gasp from behind them, and Harry turns so quickly he thinks his spine cracks.

Louis’ eyes are wide open, his fingers digging into the bed and he pulls in wheezed breathes, chest absolutely heaving as he tries to breathe. He sits up suddenly, coughing and blinking rapidly.

Harry almost falls over himself in his haste to move, Amelia and Niall close behind him.

“Louis,” he says gently, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s reaching for his hand. “Louis, you’re fine, everything is alright.”

Louis’ face is wet with tears Harry feels he doesn’t even know he’s crying. His hair is a mused mess, tangled in his eyes as he leans forwards and gasps out punched breathes. Harry reaches out and pushes the loose strands off his face. “Look at me. _Look at me._ ”

Louis’ eyes snap to his finally, piercing against the sickly paleness of his face. His eyes are afraid, open and unsure. Harry grips his hand tighter.

“Just breathe with me, alright?” Harry says softly. “In and out, you’re alright. Calm down.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually Louis’ chest stops heaving, his eyes blinking slowly as he relaxes and curls into himself.

He glances down at their joined hands, then up at Harry’s face, brows pinched together slightly and eyes searching. There’s a moment, suspended between them, in which Louis’ eyes go soft and Harry can feel his own mouth parting slightly to breathe. But then his brain kicks into gear suddenly and he reels away, crashing into the bed behind him and almost taking Niall out with him.

“I’ll just-. I’ll, I-“ he stutters. Niall and Amelia look on with unsure amusement, both their eyebrows raised. “Zayn. I’ll get-yes.”

With that, he stumbles out of the room, falling awkwardly through the door, trying not to think of the way Louis’ head had followed him as he left. A sticky flush is crawling up the back of his neck. He tries to will it away, repressing all familiarity of Louis’ skin down, down, down.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're all enjoying so far!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, blood

The sun has set, and the infirmary is now filled with soft yellow light, glowing from the worn out lamps and the dusty globes. The racket of the dining room can be heard, a muddled collection of voices and cutlery and running water, rattling the pipes overhead.

They’re sat in a circle of chairs around Louis’ bed, Simon at the foot of it. Louis has his arms crossed over his chest, face set sourly with his mouth pressed together, shoulders hunched in. They’ve been sitting here for an hour.

“As I’ve said, I don’t remember,” Louis huffs, flicking his eyes away. Harry watches him closely.

He’s sitting to his right, next to Niall. He’s kept his input into the conversation minimal, still flustered and embarrassed from earlier. Louis had said nothing when he’d returned with Zayn and Liam in tow, just kept his face passive and leant back against the bedhead.

“There must be something,” Simon badgers desperately, “A quick image or even a sound, _something_.”

“All I remember was walking back to the car, and then I woke up here,” Louis says, again, probably for the fifth time. His eyes are on the ceiling.

Simon runs a hand over his face, looking distressed. “This is hopeless.”

“Sorry,” Louis says, offended. “I’ll try to focus a little more the next time I’m apparently possessed.”

“Lou,” Zayn says, reaching out for him. “We’re just trying to get to the bottom of this.”

“I understand that, but I really don’t remember anything,” Louis repeats firmly. He scratches his nails against the cut on his arm softly, eyes distant.

“Are you sure you-“

“I said I don’t remember!” Louis shouts, chest heaving with it as his eyes go wild, voice biting. Simon raises an eyebrow, leaning back slowly in his chair. “Just leave me alone, please. I’m so tired.”

Simon gets up and leaves the room silently. Liam and Niall follow a moment later, then, reluctantly, Zayn goes too. He pauses at the doorway, looking between Harry and Louis quickly, seeming to have a conversation with Louis with his eyes.

When it’s just the two of them left, Harry returns his attention back to Louis, and almost flinches in his chair at the look Louis is giving him. It’s icy and defensive. “You too, Styles.”

“Tell me what you actually remember,” Harry says softly, keeping his gaze level. Louis’ mouth parts in surprise, before he clicks it shut.

“I’ve already said-“

“You were lying,” Harry says. “I know how you lie.”

The silence that stretches between them is deafening as Louis’ face changes. It becomes softer, reserved and cautious. Harry realizes how that sentence must seem, and he regrets how he worded it straight away. He can tell that Louis’ mind is distant, his head lowering to look into his lap.

“I don’t remember,” Louis says firmly. He swallows visibly and pulling his sheet up higher. “Please, Harry.”

His voice is a whisper, worn down and broken.

“Lou,” Harry leans closer, unsure of what he’s doing, what his brain is directing his body to do. Louis’ head lifts, tilting towards his. His eyes are shiny in the soft light. “Please, you know you can talk to me. I won’t say anything.”

His heart is filling up his throat, making his words choked. It’s beating, so fast and strong and it’s echoing through his head. He feels so warm, his skin tingling and little tremors running through his hands. He’s lost control of something inside himself, and brief images flash in his eyes, of hands and lips and soft grass.

He rests his hand on Louis’ arm, fingers brushing the raised skin, scratched and red.

“I said _go!_ ”

The change is so sudden, so intense that Harry startles backward, his chair making a spine-tingling scraping sound along the floor. Louis’ eyes are burning and glassy, voice ripped from his throat. His chest heaves, blankets twisted in his fists. He blinks heavily, like he’s trying to clear something away, head twitching to the side, neck straining.

Harry fumbles his way to his feet, body stiff and disjointed as he leaves. He tries to organize his thoughts, tries to comprehend the shifts in Louis’ mood and in his own.

-

Simon is keeping them under lockdown until he deems them all to be recovered, physically and emotionally. Harry has suggested countless times that a few of them go, himself and Liam, even Zayn if he feels ready. But Simon refuses to send them anywhere without the five of them being together. Harry seethes. He knows why Simon is doing it. It’s a cruel punishment, a consequence for what happened in Redditch, and how Harry had acted when they’d come back.

Louis gets out of the infirmary two days after The Incident, uncharacteristically subdued. He remains silent in their conversations, even when it comes to their plans once they’re free from Simon’s hold. Zayn has constant circles under his eyes, reading dust covered books late at night, looking for any information that might help them.

They still have almost no information that can help them. Their guesses about Agramon are just that, guesses. It might not even be that Agramon is here, it could just be that the solar eclipse is rapidly approaching. But then that wouldn’t explain the symbols. So far nothing explains the symbols. They have no solid evidence, no solid motives for the demons, and no solid bond between their team. Harry still doesn’t know which of those he’s most concerned about.

Louis avoids him like the plague, sticking to Zayn’s side and mostly staying in his room, only coming out during meal times or for a tea refill. Harry mostly avoids him too, if he’s honest. He’s dreams are plagued with memories, dark and fuzzy around the edges, warped into nightmares towards the end. He sleeps fitfully and wakes uncomfortable, feeling disoriented when he walks in the chilly air around Old Barnes.

He tries to keep himself busy, latching onto other teams and giving them as much advice and guidance as possible, routes to take underground and the types of blades they need, sticking together and making sure they see the demons fade. The younger ones are frightened, and Harry remembers what that was like, when he was fresh and new into this whole thing, and just facing one demon in a group bigger than his own team now made him shake in his boots. He couldn’t possibly imagine being that way now, with everything that’s happening.

The death of the boy in the North had shaken the whole Inn. One of the newer boys to their district, a short, young and frizzy haired teenager named Nate, had worked with him for a bit before he transferred to Barnes. His team here had hushed and held him as he’d cried, the rest of them watching on with sinking stomachs.

They had plenty of injuries that happened all the time, but here hadn’t been a death in quite a while, not within their district anyway. It’s brought the whole situation to life, the danger and the thought that it’s real, it’s happening, and the things are still coming in every day. Harry tries to keep himself level headed. He knows the other teams look to himself, Liam and Niall for support, for comfort. He has to keep himself above water, or else others are going to start flailing.

So he trains, constantly, more than he normally would. The training rooms are built underneath the Inn, concretes floor with mats rolled up on the wall and wooden beams and rafters hanging bulky from the ceiling. The rooms aren’t particularly large, but they’re well equipped, weights and targets and weapons.

Harry trains until his muscles ache pleasantly, staying below ground late into the night, when even Niall has left. Though he claims it’s because his ribs are still sore, not that Harry can out-train him. He’s always been a competitive little shit.

It’s the second week of their confinement, and dinner has finished. Liam had made a giant, bubbling pot of hearty soup, overflowing with chunky vegetables. They’d collected the tables together, communal and warm as they’d wrapped their hands around their mismatched mugs. The buzz of conversation was quiet, pleasant, more relaxed than it had been in weeks.

Harry heads down to the training rooms, belt secured around his waist and knives and sanctiums a familiar presence. The heating is on but it’s still freezing, the concrete walls making his footsteps echo slightly. He shoulders his way inside the target room and stretches his arm out to flick on the lights out of reflex.

The lights are already on. Louis is on the far side, throwing his blades at one of the still targets across the room. He freezes when Harry enters, arm pulled back to throw. He glances at Harry, just briefly, before he lands the knife dead centre. He’s not using a moving target, so the room is completely void of the clunking machinery. Harry stands at the station next to him and starts to throw.

They’re silent for a long time, just the _whiz_ and _thunk_ of their knives slicing through the air and hitting the boards filling out the wide room. Every so often one of them will hop down into the pit to walk towards their target and pull their knives out. The other keeps throwing. They both know they won’t miss.

Despite their silence, Harry can’t help but sneak a look in Louis’ direction every so often. His skin has lost its sickly paleness, slowly going back to its even glow. He’s in sweats and an old t-shirt, grey with holes at the bottom. His jacket is thrown to the side.

“Aren’t you cold?” Harry says, pulling a knife from his belt. Louis stills for a moment.

“No,” he says. His voice shifts as launches his blade. “I’ve been down here for a while.”

“I didn’t see you at dinner,” Harry observes, tossing his knife into his opposite hand.

“Wasn’t hungry,” Louis replies shortly. He throws another knife.

“Liam made soup, there’s still a few tubs left in the fridge if you want,” Harry says. He can feel how awkward he’s being, and cringes inwardly at himself.

“Okay,” Louis mutters, almost a sigh.

They’re silent again, and Harry can feel a mix of frustration and penitence bubbling up inside him. He throws his knife.

“I’m sorry about Redditch,” he starts, thumb brushing over the sanctium in his belt. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I was just being paranoid and rather stupid. It wasn’t your fault.”

Louis says nothing, throwing his last knife steadily.

Harry takes in a deep breath and bites down. “I’m sorry.”

Louis ignores him, hopping down into the pit and moving towards his target. Harry lets out a frustrated sound. He grabs his last blade, and throws it into Louis’ target, just above his head.

Louis is as quick as he’d imagined he’d be, and whirls around, tugging a knife from the target and launching it at Harry’s head. Harry rolls out of the way, the knife sticking into the beam behind him, wavering from the force of the motion. His eyes are wide.

“Your aim hasn’t improved much,” Louis bites, rolling his eyes and sliding his knives back into his belt one by one. “You’ll be down here a lot longer than me with that arm.”

“I just want you to accept my apology,” Harry grumbles, standing shakily. Trust Louis to always take it that extra mile. “We need to fix this. I just want to get some kind of mending done between our team. We _need_ to get out there and help the others.”

Louis turns slowly, looking back over his shoulder, entirely amused and with a huffed breath of laugher. “ _Our_ team, is it now?”

Harry didn’t even realize he’d said it, and he’s at a loss for words as Louis stalks towards him slowly.

“I keep going back to how things used to be,” Harry says, blinking and looking away. “We used to be that way. It was our team.”

Louis stops in front of him, neck craned as he looks up at him from down in the pit. Harry studies his face, the stretch of his skin across his delicate cheekbones and the arch of his brows. He looks so innocent, suddenly, so young, looking up at Harry with open, curious eyes.

“I wanted to forget that,” he says slowly. “I tried forgetting it.”

Harry lowers himself down gingerly, sitting on the edge of the pit with his legs hanging over.

“All you wanted to forget was me,” he says bitterly.

“I wanted to forget everything associated with that night, I wanted it gone from my head completely,” Louis says softly, crossing his arms over the floor and leaning his head on them, tilted up towards Harry still. “I did miss you, Harry.”

“That’s not true,” Harry says, “you kept Zayn around.”

“It’s not the same,” Louis presses, after a moment’s hesitation. “You didn’t want to see me either.”

“Zayn was pissed at you for ages too!” Harry exclaims. “What was so different? That you and him were never like we were? That you never-“

He cuts himself off, taking in a deep breath and looking away.

“I didn’t want to see you because I couldn’t stand facing what happened,” Louis tries to explain. He places a hand on Harry’s knee, palm warm and familiar. “It wasn’t anything you did. I knew how angry you were with me. But…I was a coward. We transferred and Zayn agreed to come with me, and I regret it.”

Harry says nothing. He looks down at his knee, where Louis’ fingers are spread and pressing down.

“Tell me the truth,” Louis says suddenly, voice hushed and eyes intense. “If I’d stayed, would you have accepted my apology, eventually? Did you want us to mend?”

Every word is a soft lull, pulling Harry down closer. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me,” Louis repeats, voice still quiet but almost aggressive. Harry’s head is buzzing, chest constricting as he flattens his palms against the cold floor to try and ground himself. Louis leans closer, his hand resting on the middle of his thigh now, eyes flickering everywhere. Harry’s body is electric.

“I don’t know,” his voice is thick, stuttering. “I-“

The door bursts open, and Niall tumbles inside with a triumphant shout.

“Lads, Simon wants to see us!” He crows. Louis has already sprung away, moving to the side of the room to climb out of the pit and grab his jacket. Harry’s face feels warm, his head dazed. His thigh is cold. “I think we might _finally_ be getting a mission!”

“That’s great,” Harry chokes out, sounding extremely unenthusiastic. Niall seems undeterred however, and cups his hands under Harry’s arms to hoist him awkwardly to his feet.

“I cannot _wait_ ,” Niall squeals. “My babies have just been sitting in my room, so lonely.”

“You have children hiding around here?” Louis says, joining them as he slips his jacket over his arms.

“My guns, Louis,” Niall says excitedly as he pulls them both out of the room, flicking the lights off as he goes. “One more day in here, I would have gone mad, I tell you.”

“I thought you already were?” Louis teases, blinking slowly.

“Only a little,” Niall sticks his tongue out, then drags them as quickly as he can up the stairs.

Liam and Zayn are already in Simon’s office when they arrive. Zayn is spread out on one of the couches, eyes closed and looking deep in sleep. Liam is sat up on the other, picking at his fingers anxiously. Simon stands by the fire, hands behind his back. 

“Okay, so I’ve-“

“Yeah, new mission!” Niall practically jumps onto the sofa beside Zayn, who snorts and flinches as he’s jostled awake. He punches Niall on the arm, who mutters a quiet _ouch_ , pouting.

Harry rolls his eyes and squeezes in next to Liam, Louis beside him. Their thighs a pressed together, and Harry wonders if the flush on his face has disappeared yet.

“As I was saying,” Simon clears his throat, sending a pointed look towards Niall. “I think you’re all well on your way to full recovery, and I’ve found a mission for you.”

Niall is practically buzzing in his seat, sitting on his hands as he leans forward intently. Simon has an amused smile on his face, looking for too pleased to be handing out a mission. Harry narrows his eyes.

“Your next mission,” Simon pauses for effect, then lifts his arms from behind his back to reveal a notepad and a pen, “is to do this week’s shopping.”

It’s so deadpan and dry that Harry has to muffle his laugh, Niall’s face going from intrigued to betrayed in a split second.

“Wha-“ he splutters, raising his hands in annoyance. “You want us to do the _shopping_?”

“Yes. Well, I’m sure not _all_ of you need to go. Two or three would suffice-“

“Dibs not!” Niall hollers.

“Dibs not!” Louis follows, grinning madly.

“Dibs not!” Zayn mumbles incoherently.

Their voices are all layered over the top of one another in their haste. This happens in roughly two seconds, and he and Liam are left with their smiles slowly slipping off their faces, turning into grimaces.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Liam groans. “I feel like we should all be doing this together. This is a group effort.”

“It’s really not,” Niall sniffs, getting up to leave. “Goodbye.”

“Sorry, you’re on your own,” Louis shrugs, collecting Zayn. “Have fun.”

Zayn lets out a mildly delirious laugh, pointing a finger at the two of them, before Louis ushers him out.

Simon grins down at them.

“You’re a sadist,” Harry states, leaning forward and snatching the pen and pad out of Simon’s hands.

“You can get everything written down tonight, take requests off everyone and all that,” Simon explains, already moving towards his desk, ready to ignore their existence. “Come see me tomorrow morning for the money and some reusable bags.”

Harry and Liam gape at each other.

“But-“

“No.”

“Can-“

“You can go now.”

Louis and Niall are waiting for them in the hallway, doubled over in laughter as they emerge.

“Fuck you both,” Liam sighs.

“Get your pen ready,” Niall wheezes. “Okay, I want Cocoa Puffs, a jumbo box obviously, cookie dough, ham, Pringles, half a watermelon and those new Pop-Tarts that I’m seeing everywhere.”

“That all?” Harry says, eyebrow raised in amusement as he scribbles out a list.

“Oh! I also need a new bottle of moisturiser.” Harry pauses, giving Niall a look. “What? I have dry skin!”

“Righto,” Harry laughs. “Louis? Any special requests?”

“Tea, Yorkshire, please,” he chirps. “That’s all.”

“Where’s Zayn?” Harry asks, writing his name down.

“Went to bed,” Louis explains. “I wouldn’t wake him unless you value your life.”

“Noted,” Harry smiles. They share a quick look, the apples of Louis’ cheeks bright. 

“Why do I feel like this is going to be harder than anything we’ve ever done?” Liam muses, breaking Harry’s attention away.

And honestly, it could be. They spend the remainder of the night rounding up teams and scouring the Inn so they don’t miss anyone, filling up pages of requests. By the time they’ve gone back into the kitchen and written down their staple items, crossing any of the requests off that they’ve already got, they have _so_ much shit to buy.

“This is literally going to take us all day,” Harry laughs in disbelief, flipping the notepad closed. “I can’t remember the last time I did shopping duty. When I first came here, maybe.”

“It’ll still be nice to get out, though,” Liam says, “even if it’s just for a shopping trip.”

“I can’t believe Niall didn’t want to come,” Harry laughs. “I thought he’d jump at literally any chance to do something other than hang around here.”

“Obviously this one is just too much for him to handle,” Liam giggles, rubbing at his eye with his fist.

“See you in the morning?” Harry says, the two of them moving into the hall.

“Bright and early,” Liam sings as he swings around the corner.

-

Their supermarket is only five minutes down the road, but they take the car when they realize the sheer amount of bags they’re going to be lugging back. The boys had teased them all through breakfast (save for Zayn, who was, according to Louis, in a sleep coma) with honey-slick mouths and warm eyes, a light, gentle air settling around them for the first time in weeks. Simon had send them on their way with a credit card, dressed himself in a thick suit and coat and on his way to a meeting in Wolverhampton.

After their first hour of wandering and collecting, Liam lets out a frustrated sigh. “I feel like we should have put everything into categories before we left, so we wouldn’t be wandering through the entire supermarket back and forth to find each thing.”

“You know it still would have taken us forever to find everything,” Harry laughs as he glides past Liam on the shopping cart, one of his feet stuck into a gap in the crossed metal, the other giving him leverage.

“Stop enjoying yourself, it’s making me angry,” Liam says, grabbing a giant bag of ramen noodles and lobbing it at the cart. It hits Harry in the shoulder instead, and he makes a wounded sound as he slides back through the aisle past Liam gracefully. “Twat.”

They end up having to get a second cart when they’re halfway through the list, and spend five minutes flying down the abandoned aisles, getting strange looks from the staff.

It’s nearing lunchtime when they finally get to the last page, crossing things off as quickly as possible. They’re on their last few items (a roll of Hubba Bubba gum, about five packets of Hobnobs, and those damn Pop-Tarts that Niall is convinced exist), when they spot Zayn coming down the aisle towards them, looking refreshed and cosy in a hoodie.

“Just checking that you’re alive,” is how he greets them, smile serene. “I also didn’t get to write my requests down.”

“We’re almost done,” Liam smiles. “How did you get Simon to let you roam free?”

Zayn blinks once, twice, then widens his smile. “He was happy for me to help, I think. It’s a short walk.”

He wanders off, stride slow. Harry and Liam share a look, mouths twitching.

“Finally got some beauty sleep,” Harry laughs, then makes a triumphant sound when he spots the bright purple rolls of gum. “Let’s go get those biscuits.”

“How do you think Niall is going to feel when we break the news to him about the Pop-Tarts,” Liam says, swinging his car around the side of the aisle, pretending he’s driving a car.

“Absolutely gutted,” Harry grins. “Poor soul.”

They find the packets of Hobnobs in the next aisle over, and locate Zayn in the one after that. He’s got his hands by his sides, staring at packets of continental soup with a smile.

“Found everything you need?” Harry asks. He slides towards him and comes to an abrupt stop at his side.

“I’ve decided I don’t want anything after all,” he says. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of food back at the Inn.”

“If you’re sure,” Liam shrugs. “Now, let’s get this all paid for.”

The tiny old woman working at the register looks ready to faint when they bring up their trolleys, overflowing with food.

“Good morning,” Liam smiles, dumping an armful of boxes and packets onto the conveyer belt.

“Oh my,” she mutters.

When finally, _finally¸_ everything is scanned through, they wheel their trolleys into the carpark and start trying to fit the bags of food into the back of Harry’s car. It’s proving difficult.

“Maybe we should have taken two cars?” Liam says, struggling as he lifts a bag full of various cartons of milk and fruit juices.

“Next time,” Harry grunts as he lifts another few bags, trying to slot them in like Tetris blocks.

“I hope there is _never_ a next time.”

Zayn stays relatively quiet, face passive but mouth quirked slightly as he helps them pack the car. He squeezes into the back when they’re done, squashed between piles of rustling bags. He doesn’t seem to mind too much, though, saying nothing as Harry backs out.

They’re just pulling out onto the main road when Zayn leans forward in his seat, head appearing between Harry and Liam’s.

“I never did say, thank you for letting us stay in the Inn,” he says, smile peaceful, eyes soft.

“That’s alright,” Liam says, “you’re always welcome.”

Zayn leans back slowly, bags scrunching beneath him. When Harry glances in the rear view mirror, Zayn is already looking back. He drifts his eyes away slowly, looking out the window. Harry blinks and huffs out a quite puff of laughter. Funny what a little sleep will do.

They unload the bags best they can, taking four or five in at a time. It’s relatively quiet inside, the kitchen not yet bustling with the lunchtime rush. He knows there are a few teams out doing some scouting today, looking for the unfound symbol in their district. Finally, they manage to get all the bags inside. Unpacking is going to be a whole other matter.

“I feel as though this is going to take us just as long,” Liam sighs, surveying the copious amounts of bags covering the kitchen floor, hands on his hips.

“Do you know where Louis is?” Zayn says, eyes drifting towards the hallway door.

“Uh, no, sorry,” Harry frowns. “Probably with Niall somewh-“

Zayn is already leaving, serene face dropped into a blank stare as he rounds the corner.

“Dammit, we couldn’t have used an extra hand,” Liam says, a tiny smile on his lips. “Let’s get started.”

They struggle through it, their feet getting caught in bags, tripping over their groceries and each other as they reach into cupboards and draws. They’re about a third of the way through when Zayn re-appears, this time with Louis at his side, jumper swapped for a thin jacket. His hair is mussed, familiar frown settled on his face. Louis is in his sweats again, the bottom of them tucked underneath his socks. They share a quick look, before Harry turns around and hides his smile.

“Needed a wardrobe change to give a helping hand?” Liam teases. Zayn’s frown furrows.

“What?” He huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over the side of his face. “I literally just woke up. Was gonna walk down with Lou to get some of my stuff, but looks like you beat me to it.”

Harry and Liam both freeze their movements.

“What kind of excuse is that?” Liam shakes his head. “Get over here and help us.”

Zayn looks even more confused. “It isn’t an excuse. What are you on about?”

“You…you came down and told us you didn’t want anything,” Harry explains, brain ticking.

“I just woke him up like, ten minutes ago,” Louis says, looking between the three of them.

Harry looks closer at Zayn’s face, sees the creases in his skin from his blankets, the shadows that are still under his eyes.

“But you-, we-. We just,” Harry stutters. He gestures to the shopping, then back at Zayn.

He’s so confused.

They look between each other.

“But if you were here the whole time…” Liam starts. His eyes drift towards the door. “Who was…who was that?”

Harry glances over at Louis, but he’s not looking back. He’s staring down at the floor, eyes flickering, neck strained. Then his head is snapping upwards, eyes wide.

“Fuck,” he says. He bends down abruptly to pull a blade from underneath his sweats, strapped to his ankle. He sprints from the room, turning down the hallway, in the same direction Zayn went minutes ago.

“Uh,” Liam starts.

Then they’re all running, following Louis’ footsteps as he moves. They burst out through the front doors together, Louis’ chest heaving. His blade is gripped tightly in his hand, head swivelling as he looks across the grounds.

“Louis,” Harry says. “What is it?”

“I can feel it, it’s here,” he mutters as he moves forward slowly. He looks over his shoulder. “Go and get blades, find Niall.”

“But what-“

“ _Now_ ,” Louis bites. “Hurry.”

Harry stumbles back inside, running down the halls, down the stairs to the underground training rooms. He throws the door to the weapons room open, and finds Niall inside already. He lets out a startled shout, jumping two feet in the air and dropping one of his guns to the ground with a clatter.

“Fucks sake, I could have shot myself in the foot!” Niall shouts, hand over his heart.

Harry is about to talk, to explain everything and grab his weapons. He stops dead.

Zayn is in here, leaning against the bench beside Niall, a surprised look on his face. Harry’s mind spins. He doesn’t know who is who. His clothes are different as well. Louis had said it was outside.

He has two options. He can attack, take the risk and attack and see what happens. Or he can play dumb, get them outside with the others.

Harry decides on the second option, smiling and clapping Niall on the back. They need the open space. It’s too small down here. That could be Zayn.

“Sorry, darling,” Harry laughs. “I just thought I’d let you know that the kitchen is now free to roam in.”

“Did you get my Pop-Tarts?” Niall says, voice hopeful and innocent.

Harry glances at Zayn, who’s looking on with a small smile, looking right at Harry. It’s unsettling now. Before it had been refreshing, calm. Now Harry is starting to see the blankness in the eyes despite his expression.

“Of course,” Harry says quietly, moving to the wall to grab some of the weapons.

“What are those for?” Zayn’s voice floats over his, soft.

“We’re doing a bit of practice outside,” Harry explains. “It’s a lovely day.”

“I might stay down here,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Haven’t had a lot of time to use the targets lately.”

 _Of course you haven’t_. Harry smiles, bright and insistent. “It’ll be fun.”

“C’mon man,” Niall nudges Zayn’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

Niall turns away, packing up his things and grabbing a spare belt from the wall. Zayn’s eyes darken slightly, mouth turned down. Harry grabs a thick blade, not breaking eye contact.

“Alright,” Zayn mutters with a roll of his shoulders, pushing away from the bench.

Niall is completely oblivious to the tension thrumming around them. Harry makes sure Zayn walks in front of him, keeping his eyes on his hands and his shoulders. He glances at him over his shoulder once, thick lashes framing his intense stare. Harry smiles at him tightly and keeps walking.

When they get outside, Louis, Liam, and the other Zayn are nowhere in sight. Harry frowns slightly, walking forward from the doorway. He subtly grabs onto the back of Niall’s shirt, stopping him while Zayn continues forward a few steps. Niall gives him a look, eyes flicking to where Harry’s arm is reaching out.

The silence between them is broken when Louis bursts from behind them, and tackles Zayn to the ground, blade flashing.

“What the fuck!” Niall shouts, springing away as the two boys roll, Zayn snarling as Louis stabs his blade down.

Zayn blocks his arm, shifting under him. Grass and dirt flicks up under them as they scuffle. Zayn pushes Louis off him forcefully. Blood trickles down his arm where Louis had gotten his blade in.

He pulls a blade from his own belt, twirling it in his fingers before the two of them are going in again.

“Harry.”

He turns, Zayn and Liam behind them, looking on with wide eyes.

Niall gapes, head snapping between the two boys on the ground and the two behind him. “But-you. Who’s. _What!?_ ”

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Louis hisses, throwing his knife away and using his fists instead. Harry hears the crack of bone when his fist collides with Zayn’s nose. Zayn snarls and knees Louis’ stomach to push him away.

Louis lip is bleeding, and he wipes at it as he stands shakily. Zayn rises slowly, seeming unbothered by the steady flow of blood that trickles over his mouth. His eyes are dark, pupils blown black. His lips are pulled back in an ugly grimace.

“What are you?” Louis demands, chest heaving. Harry pulls his knife from his belt.

“A messenger, and a friend to you,” Zayn laughs, teeth stained red.

Louis starts forward again, but this time Zayn is quicker, knocking his blade from his hand and taking him down. Louis growls underneath him, thrashing his arms.

Zayn raises his arm, blade in his hand, and Louis freezes, mouth gaping.

Harry springs into action, grabbing the thing around the waist and throwing him off Louis, the two of them tumbling together. Up close, Harry can see its eyes, black and bloodshot. Its teeth are pointy, red blood turning deep, bubbly. Harry swings his blade, getting the thing in the stomach. It howls and thrashes so violently that Harry is thrown off.

He shuffles away, his legs kicking out and his palms caked in mud, the thing convulsing before him. Louis is behind him, and he tugs Harry to his feet, breathing heavily.

The demon’s howls turn into mechanical laughs, guttural and rabid. It twists around, laying on its front, propping itself up on its elbows.

“It’s coming for you,” it laughs, pointed teeth cutting into its human lips. “You’ve led It to you!”

The last words are a vicious snarl. Louis eyes are wide and shocked, glazed over with tears as he watches what once looked like his friend tear itself apart.

“It’s tasted your blood!” Its voice is like nails on a blackboard, stringing his body tight. “You’ve made the connection! They’re all coming!”

It laughs again, black, bubbling blood pouring down the front of its mouth. The human skin starts to bubble, and Harry almost gags as the sound of ripping and squelching reaches his ears. Louis has a vice grip on his arm, his breathing heavy and panicked.

The demon lets out another scream, gurgling and high pitched as it tremors. Soon there’s nothing human left, just a slimy, oozing corpse with no face. Finally, fucking finally, it begins to fade, leaving just the matted remains of clothes behind.

Harry glances behind him. Zayn is a few metres away from the group, leant over the ground, looking green and like he’s just been sick. Liam is beside him, a hand on the back of his neck. Niall is frozen, like he hasn’t moved since they came outside.

Louis lets out a tiny sound, a distressed whimper, and Harry turns back to him.

There are fresh tears on his cheeks, face crumped.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs, reaching out and pulling him into his chest. He starts to cry, loud, terrified sobs that rattle through his entire body. Harry runs a hand through his hair, cradling his head and rubbing circles into his back.

Louis pulls back from Harry’s chest, looking around his body. He breaks away and barrels straight into Zayn’s open arms. They embrace tightly, Louis’ voice shrill, terrified, and muddled. _I thought it was you, I thought I killed you. I’m sorry. It bled like a person. I’m sorry._

Harry looks down at the mess on the ground, the bubbling tar and the heap of clothes, a putrid, acidic stench rising. Nausea rolls through him, and he looks away, swallowing down bile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel weird not writing a note at the end of a chapter but then i also feel weird if i do. anyway. feel free to leave a comment and yell at me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter: mentions of violence

It lingers.

As the clouds float and clutter together to obscure the strange blotch of hazy light, and the moon wraps its arms around the sun and forces it down, the presence refuses to move.

Teams come and go from their missions, walking slowly across the soft grass, bodies skirting around and lingering on the dead, fizzled patch.

Acid settles in an invisible fog, and the stench floats through the windows.

They ask. Harry has to tell.

Simon doesn’t arrive back from Wolverhampton until late into the night. Harry is waiting for him in his office, sat on one of the ridiculously lavish chairs in front of the dying remains of the fire, lit this morning and running on its final breaths. The Inn is almost entirely silent. His eyes are vacant, his mind lost on a tangent.

The creaking of the doors startles him only slightly, eyes flicking up to where Simon is shouldering his way inside and tugging off his thick coat. Harry stays silent, waiting for Simon to acknowledge his presence. And the other phantom breath that hovers over them.

Harry’s eyes follow the older man as he putters around the room, before taking a seat at his desk.

“What happened?” he says, finally.

Harry twists around, and he sees the darkness beneath Simon’s eyes under the soft lamps, dread and hesitance all at once.

“It was a demon. It disguised itself as Zayn,” Harry says. The fire spits behind him, fighting to keep itself going.

“How did it get in?” Simon says

“It tricked Liam and I,” Harry says. “It could have killed us.”

“Could?” Simon questions.

“It had a message,” Harry says unpleasantly. “Something is coming for us, all of us.” Simon is silent, and Harry continues. “Louis tried to kill it. It talked about his blood, about the symbols.”

Simon says nothing, and Harry watches the tense lines of his face, the shadows and grooves that cut along his eyes and mouth. He sighs, looking down at the desk. Harry stands and reaches for the old box of matches on top of the dusty mantelpiece. He relights the fire, orange glow licking at the bricks.

“There was another death,” Simon says quietly. “Two girls, from Manchester. The demon was transformed into a human.”

“Simon…” Harry breathes, turning his head from the glow slowly. “You know you have to let us help. We can’t stay here.”

Simon shakes his head, breathing in through his teeth. “No, you aren’t safe. I won’t let you put yourselves in danger.”

Irritation bubbles inside of him, the heat of the fire creeping up his neck and along his face. “You said to me that we’re in danger with every breath that we take. You said that yourself.”

“Harry, listen-“

“No, you listen!” Harry exclaims, stalking towards Simon’s desk. “We’re sitting ducks in here, we’re no good! Yes, we’re in danger. But we’re better off being in danger out there, where we can actually do something to fix this.”

“You aren’t better off!” Simon rises out of his chair, leaning his hands against his desk with his fingertips poised. “There are demons out there, impersonating you. Do you think I’m going to just let you wander around?”

“Call us all back then,” Harry says venomously. “I won’t sit here and play nice while there are people out there dying, doing what we should be.”

“It’s my duty to keep you safe!” Simon roars, banging his hand down on the desk. “I _swore_ to your mother I would keep-“

“Don’t bring her into this,’ Harry seethes. The room is stuffy, the fire leaping upward and spitting into the grill. “I don’t want you to keep me safe. I’d rather die a hundred times over than sit here and watch others come and go. People are _dying_ , I’m not going to let you keep me here.”

Simon neck is strained and tense, his entire face red with anger.

“And yes, I’m scared,” Harry admits, voice cracking, “but we need everyone out there, getting rid of as many as possible. How many demons that we leave alone will turn into us? How do we know who we’re talking to is who they say they are?”

“That’s just another reason for you to say,” Simon says, and Harry lets out a frustrated sound.

“It’s not!” he says, exasperated. “Liam and I were fooled today. We just let it in without even realizing.”

“I’ll double the shields, double our radar scans, engrave more symbols,” Simon says. Harry shakes his head.

“It’s not enough,” Harry pleads. “Simon, you can’t do th-“

Simon lets out an irritated growl and swipes his arm across the desk, sending everything on top of it crashing to the ground. Harry flinches, scampering backward as Simon advances.

“Get out of my office,” he grits out, pointing Harry to the door with blazing eyes. “When I have something you can track, a solid solution, you and your team will be on it. Send Zayn to me.”

Harry stumbles away, heart beating erratically in his head. The corridor is a whole other world, the heat sucking itself away as he leaves the office, fire roaring in the corner. It’s almost as if sound itself has been sucked out of the hallway along with the heat, the insistent buzzing in Harry’s head vanishing as he breathes heavily, leaning against the wall.

He’s always respected Simon’s decisions, had gone to him for advice and taken that advice on strongly. He’s experienced, trustworthy, and intelligent. But Harry can barely stand it here now, knowing that out there, there are problems that need fixing. Desperately.

Harry calms himself down as he walks towards Louis’ room, goosebumps rising on his arms as he moves into the Inn and away from the heat of Simon’s office. The light fades from orange into blue as night swallows him up, the random, dulled lamps giving off only a trickle of muddy light.

The boys are right where Harry had left them, squished up on Louis’ bed and muttering to one another. Only the lamp on the bedside table is on, casting odd, lumpy shadows around the room and masking their faces in a sickly yellow light.

Liam and Niall are huddled together at the head of the bed, while Zayn and Louis lean against one another, backs to the wall. Their hands are linked in a gentle grip, eyes blinking heavy and slow from waiting. Upon his entrance, their drowsy eyes flicker to him, startled and expectant. 

It had taken so long to explain what had happened to Niall, who was so entirely confused through the entire attack. His face had paled when they’d explained that the Zayn that was downstairs with him was not actually Zayn, blanching at the thought.

“I was just talking to it, having a lively fucking conversation,” he’d sniffed, running a distressed hand over his face.

Zayn had thrown up another three times since they’d come inside, body shuddering from shock. Harry didn’t know how he would handle seeing a copy of himself being torn apart from the inside, being attacked by his own friends. Louis, too, was hysterical for hours, touching Zayn’s face with his hands and apologizing over and over. Harry’s stomach sunk with it, the fear in his eyes. He wanted to reach out and hold him close, assure him that they were okay now, that it couldn’t hurt them. But that was the thing, there was no reassurance he could give. He knew it, they all did.

“He hasn’t changed his mind,” he says as he crawls onto the bed beside Louis, making sure he doesn’t touch. “He’s convinced this is all just another reason for us to stay.”

“I thought he _wanted_ us to work on this?” Liam says. “He wanted us all together, right?”

“Yeah, well,” Harry says uselessly.

He looks to Louis, pulling his knees up into his chest. He’s picking a loose thread on his pants in one hand, Zayn’s fingers in the other. His eyelashes cut deep into his cheeks. 

Harry lets out a slow breath. “Two girls died, from Manchester. By a demon that looked human.”

“Fucking hell,” Niall says. “I thought only the strongest of them could do that?”

“Well they’re all strong now, aren’t they?” Liam grumbles.

“Simon wants to talk to you,” Harry says gently, leaning past Louis to look at Zayn. His honey eyes, a cloudy brown in this light, flick to him warily. “He might just want to check that you’re alright.”

“Oh yeah, ‘m peachy,” Zayn mutters. Louis squeezes his hand tighter, but Zayn starts to shift, sliding off the bed. Louis releases him reluctantly, tilting his head up with wide eyes. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Night,” Liam says, trying for a reassuring smile, but it ends up looking more despondent and like a grimace.

Zayn nods to them, before slipping out the door.

“We should all get some sleep, I think,” Niall says, stretching his arms above his head and untangling his limbs. _Sleep won’t come_ , Harry’s thinks. He knows they’re all thinking it.

Harry starts shifting too, extending his long legs out. He moves to slide off the front of the bed, but then he feels Louis’ fingers brushing his skin as he gets a subtle hold on his jumper. Harry turns his head, looking back at Louis questioningly. _Stay_ , his eyes say, drooped from exhaustion but intense in their intent.

He vaguely registers Liam and Niall bustling about them, saying goodnight and collecting their things. But Harry’s eyes don’t move from Louis’, and Louis’ don’t move from his. Harry’s half off the bed, leant back on his hand and looking at Louis over his shoulder, whose hand is outstretched and firm in its grip.

A delicate hush settles over them, and Louis pulls on the back of Harry’s jumper, urging him to come closer. Harry obeys helplessly, shuffling backwards, trying to ignore the feather-light touch of Louis’ fingertips on his skin. They sit side by side, knees pressed together. Louis’ eyes are doleful, his fingers twisting together.

“You were right,” He whispers. He turning his head slightly to look at him, his eyes flickering over his face.

“About…” Harry trails off, the beginnings of a pink flush spreading up his neck, his eyes fixed on the constellations that make up the smudges of Louis’ freckles in the damp light.

“About Redditch,” Louis says. “I was lying to Simon. I did remember. Parts of it.”

“And now?” Harry breathes.

Louis’ eyes linger, before he flicks them away, downcast, curling his knees up and into his chest. “Now I think I’ve remembered too much.”

Harry can feel the restless, quaking energy radiating off him, his fingers tucked under his knees. Harry watches him, the way he keeps pulling his lips into his mouth and letting them go, the twitch of his jaw.

“Do you want to tell me?” Harry says gently. “You know you don’t have to, you don’t owe me anything.”

“I can’t-. I need to…” Louis stutters, curling his fingers. “I need to talk about it. I’m going mad, Harry. Mad.”

“You’re not,” Harry reassures him, unsure if he should reach out. “It’s okay to be confused about this. We all are.”

Louis shakes his head, taking in a shuddering breath and sitting up straighter, moving one of his hands to push to hair from his face messily, restlessly. “No, you don’t know, Harry. The things I’ve been seeing, dreaming, hearing-“

He’s voice is started to become panicked, throat constricted and breaths quickening as his hands curl into fists. Harry places a gentle palm on his knee, rubbing comfortingly. “ _Heyheyhey,_ it’s alright, it’s fine.”

“When I woke up in the infirmary I was just so _confused_ ,” Louis says helplessly. “It didn’t all come back to me at once. It was just flashes of images, sounds, sometimes a feeling. But it came in my dreams, too.”

Harry stays silent. He wants Louis to get all of this out, every detail and thought so it’s not trapped inside his head, buzzing around and banging against his skull.

“I don’t remember touching the symbol, or being possessed, that was true,” Louis says firmly, almost desperately. Harry nods, wills him to keep going. “But I remember what happened after I touched it. I saw things. Snippets, then longer bits, like a chopped up movie. Like someone had spliced all the tapes.”

“I was still me, I was seeing it all from my own eyes. A row of peach trees in the summertime, a farm with a white picket fence and a tall, broad house. I could hear dogs, and children laughing. Then there were more, flickers of places and people, all within seconds of each other. There were always three that kept popping up, though, a woman, and two children. Two little girls, twins.’

Louis eyes are distant and almost wistful, but then they cloud over, and his face sets into a cold grimace.

“Then things went darker. There was no more laughing, or fresh fruits. It was dried up and destroyed. There was no sun. Everything was stripped bare, dead, I don’t remember where I was, if I _was_ anywhere. But then I saw them again. The three people. There was hay and dust everywhere. And blood.”

Harry’s chest twists tightly when Louis looks at him, eyes wet. “I watched them die,” he says, brokenly. “It was there, just this black mass, a _thing_. But I felt It, I felt It in every single fibre of my being. It was so cold, so, so cold.”

“It’s alright,” Harry whispers, panic settling deep inside him as tears pool in the corners of Louis’ eyes, fumbling down the lines of his face. “It wasn’t real.”

Louis lets out a hiccupped sob, clenching his eyes shut. “Those girls, they were so little, dressed in these baby blue pinafores. I don’t know what it was doing to them, they were all twisting about. I begged it to stop, to leave them alone.”

It dawns on Harry now, what Louis is talking about. He remembers watching Louis struggle on the ground, yelling for it to stop. An icy shudder runs through him. Louis had called out for his mum. The realisation ripples through him and he feels completely nauseas.

“I don’t remember, but,” Louis sobs, and Harry knows it’s coming. “I think that woman, it was my mother. I think that was her, Harry.”

Harry pulls Louis into his chest and wraps his arms around his shoulders. Louis buries his face into Harry’s neck, his knees digging into his chest as he cries, hacking, guttural sobs.

“I thought I never knew her, that she died when I was born,” Louis sniffles, pulling away to wipe at his eyes. “But then after, I kept seeing things, I kept dreaming.”

“Breathe,” Harry says, aware of how much Louis’ is shaking in his arms, how raspy his breaths are. His head is cradled in the crook of his elbow, his whole body tucked into his side. His hair tickles the underside of his jaw.

“I was seeing things that I never had before. Of that women and those twins. Riding our bikes down a lane, craning my neck up at a bubbling pot on the stove, bedtime stories, Christmas time and birthdays. Everything was so muddled and blurry but it was there. I don’t even know what it is or what it means but it’s _there_.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry says soothingly. “We will.”

Louis pulls away further, eyes frantic and distraught. “That isn’t all. I’m so scared, H. I’m so fucking terrified of It.”

“Louis…” Harry says slowly. “Do you mean Agramon?”

Louis lets out a high, pained whine, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. Harry sits, shocked, waiting for some kind of explanation. Louis’ face is blotchy, nose running and he blinks against his misty eyes.

“There’s something not right with me,” he chokes out. “I can _feel_ It. It makes me lose control of myself, like I’m drawn to them. I get so twitchy, my emotions go all over the place.”

Harry thinks back to the infirmary, the fire in Louis eyes. Then further back, to Redditch, and in the aftermath of the fight.

“There are gaps in my head. I’m missing entire days,” Louis continues, words slurring together in his haste to get them all out. “I keep hearing things that aren’t there. I feel like I’m being watched all the time. Everything is just…it’s just a mess.”

“When you came back today,” Louis continues, quieter, “I knew something wasn’t right. I just felt this sluggish, sickly feeling inside. I went and got Zayn right away, because I knew what that feeling was. I knew there was something here. But I got Zayn first, because I would have gone after it myself, blindly. It was just a coincidence that it looked like him.”

“You saved our lives,” Harry says. Louis looks up at him, glassy eyes open and afraid. Harry gets caught in his own head for just a second, a hook pulling his stomach down as their gazes meet. He would just have to lean down a few inches.

“And you saved mine,” Louis replies softly, swallowing.

Harry can feel the rosiness that’s been slowly creeping up his neck reach his cheeks and he tries to will it away.

“Please don’t tell the other boys yet,” Louis whispers, pained.

Harry is nodding before he even replies. “Of course, anything you want.”

“Will you stay?” Louis asks. It’s so fragile, so hesitant and unsure that Harry’s heart crumples in his chest.

“Are you sure?” He asks, slightly shocked.

“I don’t want to be in here alone,” Louis says nervously, fingers fiddling with the drawstring of Harry’s jumper.

“Then I’ll stay.”

Louis moves out of Harry’s arms, and goosebumps rise on his arms from the lack of heat. He flicks off the lamp, and the room turns deep silver, the soft puff of their breath the only sound. There’s the sound of a zipper, and fabric shifting and hitting the carpet. Harry’s glad the lights are gone, because he knows his eyes would linger, and that he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

He removes his own jeans, carefully and quietly, as Louis slips into the bed. As his eyes adjust to the dark he can still barely make out the shape of Louis’ body curled up under the covers. He hesitates when his fingers find the corner of the blanket, stomach swooping with his body as he crawls in behind Louis carefully, not letting their bodies touch.

Harry really has no idea what to do. He’s too aware of the bareness of their legs, the mesmerizing heat that Louis’ body is radiating. The silence becomes deafening, both of them stiff and tentative. Harry wonders if Louis is going to turn around and kick him out, send him fumbling through the hallway with his heartbeat rattling his brain.

But then Louis shifts his body towards Harry, his hair tickling his chin and the fabric of his jumper pressing against his chest lightly. Harry stops breathing. Fuck, Louis can probably hear how fast his heart is beating, can probably feel it through two layers of clothes. Then he moves again, even closer, and Harry almost spooks as his knee brushes against Louis’ leg.

His face is on fire, breathes coming out stuttered. He has two options here. He can stay completely still, wait until Louis is asleep to relax his body, and try and contain every pent up feeling that’s rushing through his veins. Or he can put an arm around Louis’ waist, hold him close, and comfort him.

Harry lets out a long breath, his chest screaming as fresh air finally makes its way to his lungs. He moves a tentative arm away from his own chest, slowly moving it over Louis’ middle and pulling him closer. His hand stays curled into a loose fist, coming to rest against his stomach. His eyes shut tight, and he wills himself to stop shaking, to _breathe_.

Louis’ smell is everywhere, beneath the exhaustion. It’s sweet, musky, smoky rose, and it invades Harry’s senses completely. The familiarity makes him ache, deep, deep in his bones. He doesn’t realize that he’s shifting his head closer until his nose is brushing against Louis’ hair, and he snaps his eyes open, mortified.

Except Louis isn’t turning over and elbowing him in the side, or pushing him out of the bed. He’s quiet, body humming, letting out long, shaky breathes. Their bodies are pressed together, and Harry is acutely aware of the tiny brushes of their legs, just the smallest touches of skin on skin.

And then he’s even more aware of it, because Louis presses their legs together completely. Harry can’t help the tiny gasp that slips out of his mouth, too quick for him to catch it. Louis’ skin is smooth, and Harry is sweltering under these blankets. All the blood in his body is surging to his heart and then rushing back out again, making him feel dizzy, displaced.

They’re both subtly shifting around each other, two radiating bodies dancing around each other. Harry doesn’t know where to go from here, if they just stay close together and fall asleep like this, or if he holds Louis tighter, presses closer.

Harry moves one of his legs forward slightly, pressing between Louis’, and he lets out this tiny, short burst of a sound, high and breathy and cut off as soon as it’s heard. Harry’s brain feels like it’s wading through thick butter, and he presses his face closer to Louis’ neck, breathing out long and low.

“Harry,” Louis says in an exhale, so faint.

Harry’s mind fizzles as he presses in close, letting his lips drag over the back of Louis’ neck, so soft he barely even feels it. Louis shivers against him, breathing speeding up slightly. He does it again, exhaling hot and slow as his mouth moves against smooth skin. Louis whines, so, _so_ , quietly, muffled against his pillow.

Harry presses his lips in properly, starting to spread his palm over Louis’ stomach as he places gentle kisses against his skin. Louis is breathing heavily, and Harry closes his eyes, too overwhelmed by heat and skin and familiarity. His senses are in overdrive, Louis occupying every single one.

He shifts forward and tilts his head up so he can press in closer, his hand tightening in the fabric of Louis’ jumper as he curls around his body. Louis hand comes to rest on top of his, his nails digging in as he breathes wetly against his pillow. Harry makes a sound low in his throat and leans up and around to kiss the side of Louis’ neck, leaving wet kisses.

They’re both breathing heavily. Harry can feel dampness at the back of his neck where he’s starting to sweat. They’re barely moving, but every touch has his lungs expanding as if he were running, his whole body thrumming with heat as he relearns, remembers, reminisces. He’d missed him, he’d missed him so much.

He bites down on delicate skin, and Louis lets out a breathy whine, and it electrifies Harry completely. He can feel himself getting hard, just from this, just from heat and a brush of skin. But he knows that it’s not just that, that there’s so much more beneath where their legs are now slotted together and their hands are clasped.

Harry spreads his hand against Louis’ navel, his smaller fingers digging into the gaps between Harry’s longer ones. He presses his pinkie against his lower stomach, against his waistband, body pulsing as he mouths sloppily at Louis’ neck. He’s beginning to crowd over Louis’ shoulder and press him down, getting closer to his lips.

It’s so sudden and jarring when Louis pulls himself away, Harry’s hand resting out of place against his back as Louis shuffles towards the wall, breathing heavily. Harry’s whole body is almost trembling, a warm flush down his chest. He blinks into the dark.

“Lou,” he says, but his voice comes out rough and distorted.

“’m sorry,” his voice is so small, and Harry feels guilt pushing the adrenaline away.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s okay. Just sleep, just get some sleep.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Louis says, and his voice is thick, like he’s about to cry.

“Do you want me to go?” Harry asks.

“No.”

“Do you want me touching you?” He’d hate to think he ever forced himself on Louis, especially if he’s feeling so emotionally distressed.

“Can you just hold me?” Louis asks tearfully.

“Of course, come here.”

Louis rolls over, pressing his face against Harry’s chest as he buries himself almost completely under the covers. Harry wraps his arms around him and rubs his back, his heartbeat slowly going back to normal, steady and calm.

Gradually, sluggishly, his eyes droop shut, and Louis goes pliant against him.

-

Harry wakes the following morning cold, hard, and alone.

He lets out a displeased groan, rolling on to his back and rubbing sleep from his eyes. The curtains are open but everything is still muffled blue, clouds hiding the sun away. He cranes his neck towards the bedside table. The clock reads eight-thirty. Shit. He never wakes up this late.

Harry lies in bed for ten minutes, willing his erection down.

There’s no sign of Louis anywhere. Harry tugs his pants on slowly, mind still half asleep as he stumbles through the procedure of getting his jeans to fit around his waist. The bathroom is empty.

Harry fiddles with the door handle, before he manages to pull it open rather abruptly. He steps into the hallway blearily, and bumps right in Amelia, who seems to have been on a mission to get towards the kitchen.

Harry lets out a strangled squawk as they collide, almost toppling over. Amelia also makes a vaguely startled sound, hand pressed over her heart.

“What do you think you’re doing, jumping out into the hallway like that?” She scolds, curly hair falling over her patterned headscarf. She smacks him upside the head lightly, then _really_ looks at him.

“Morning,” he croaks. “Sorry about that.”

She’s still looking at him, hip cocked and arms crossed. She shoves past him and peers into Louis’ room, then turns back to Harry, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You didn’t go for your walk,” she says.

“I was tired,” Harry explains. 

“So you’re walking around the hallways instead? Jumping out of random rooms and scaring people?” Amelia questions. “I hope this isn’t going to become your new routine.”

Harry doesn’t really know how to answer. Either way, he’s going to look like an absolute tit and give away that he slept in Louis’ room. He’s pretty sure Amelia has already figured it out anyway.

“I’m just going to…go,” Harry says, brushing past her.

“I’m onto you, Styles!” She calls, laughter following him down the hallway.

He makes a beeline for him room, managing to avoid running into anyone else. He changes his clothes, pulling on thick sweats and his coat, his boots a heavy weight against his tired body.

The kitchen is in full swing when he arrives, all of the teams crowded around tables, slopping milk and cereal and tea everywhere. It’s unbelievably loud, and Harry has to stop in the doorway and blink a few times before braving it and heading into the kitchen. Niall is sitting on the counter, an apple in one hand and a pear in the other, the newspaper spread out beside him.

“Morning,” Harry greets, checking the water level on the kettle. He flicks it on, reaching up into the cupboards for his thermos.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Niall teases, and Harry turns over his shoulder to glare at him. Niall smirks at him around his apple.

“Shut it,” Harry muses, reaching for his box of teabags. He pauses, however, when he notices that the box beside it is already open, teabags spilling out messily. _LOUIS’ TEA DO NOT TOUCH._ Harry frowns. So he’s been through here already. “Have you seen Louis?”

“Nope,” Niall says, taking a bite from his pear, juice dribbling down his fingers. “Knocked on his door earlier but got no response, might be in the lounge with Zayn.”

Harry tries to keep his face passive, turning around slowly to face the wall. The kettle starts to whistle, and he pours his tea quickly, spilling hot water over the sides in his haste. “See you in a bit.”

“See ya,” Niall chirps, already distracted by his newspaper.

Harry sucks in a breath when the outside air greet him, an icy and distant hello. The trees rustle in the wind, discarded leaves twirling over the grass. He can’t see the sun, only soft grey clouds, and a set of menacingly dark ones in the distance. It’s going to rain later.

He sets off on his walk, boots crunching against the frozen ground, steam rising from his cup. His ears are tingling, and he curses himself for leaving his beanie inside as he disappears into the trees, looking for the trodden path.

He’s almost not surprised when he sees Louis, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree a little way off the skinny track, next to one of the only angel statues they have left. Harry watches his feet as he climbs over a few branches and lumps of stone, chilly air sticking to the skin of his neck.

“Louis!” He calls out, huffing as he slips on a dislodged rock. “Lou.”

Louis’ leg is swinging side to side, his shoulders hunched in. Harry huffs again, reaching out to tap him on the shoulder. “Lou.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Louis almost shrieks, his own thermos tumbling from his hands as he jolts. “What the fuck, Harry!”

“What?” Harry exclaims, bemused. “I tried calling out.”

Louis lets out a disgruntled sigh, bending down to pick up his thermos. He pulls his beanie down over his ears, adjusting his glasses on his nose grumpily. Harry’s brow furrows at the ground at Louis’ feet, disturbed and turned up. It’s like Louis has been rubbing his foot back and forward, clearing the ground of bark and broken leaves, creating just a clear patch of dirt. One of his shoes is completely caked in it, the other clean.

Harry notices his jacket then, too, the droplets of water sticking to the back of it, like he’s been sitting out here in the cold for hours.

“Rise early today?” Harry asks, moving around the end of the tree to take a seat next to Louis, fearing the damp wood will give way underneath the weight of them.

Louis flicks his eyes to him in annoyance, then he softens as he sighs and looks away. “Yeah, couldn’t sleep properly.”

Harry nods, eyes drifting to where Louis’ are now trained, head tilting up as he looks at the worn stone. Its head has been missing since Harry first arrived at the Inn, its wings worn down at the top from rain and the constant pecking of birds. It’s covered in moss and dirt, almost blending in with the shrubs and thick trees around it. It holds a wreath in its hand.

Birds whistle around them as they sit, positions almost identical, thermoses of tea clasped between their knees and their shoulders slumped in. Harry finally pulls his eyes away from the statue, floating back to Louis’ face. His nose is red and shiny from the cold.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says out of nowhere, kicking at one of the piles of mulch on the outside of the little concave he’s made in the ground.

“What for?” Harry says.

“Last night, I…,” Louis looks at Harry helplessly.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Harry says.

Louis is silent, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “I have this terrible feeling.”

Harry places a reassuring hand on his knee, gentle. He looks to Louis earnestly. “You can talk to me about it.”

Louis’ eyes flicker all over his face, like he’s contemplating his options, his next move. They look sharp against the green backdrop of the trees, his glasses flashing. “I can’t stay here anymore.”

Harry pulls away slowly, his hand hovering over Louis’ knee. “What?”

“I’m going, Harry,” Louis says firmly. “It isn’t safe.”

“Wha-. But, you can’t,” he says. He means for it to sound more forceful, more intent, but instead he sounds pleading and afraid. “Our team-“

“Will be better off without me here,” Louis interrupts.

“That isn’t true, you know it’s not true,” Harry argues.

“It is,” Louis says, looking at Harry fiercely. “Look. I still don’t know why the demons are so obsessed with me, but ever since I came here everyone has been getting hurt. I care too much about y-. About the people here to put them in any more danger.”

“You can’t just leave!” Harry exclaims. “We need you, Louis. I need you, okay?”

“You heard what that thing said!” Louis shouts, gesturing with his arm sharply back towards the Inn. “It’s coming for me, whatever it is, it’s coming for me. And you’ve got to be crazy if you think I’m going to lead it here.”

“You’re even crazier if you think I’m going to let you face it on your own,” Harry counters. Louis lets out a frustrated sound.

“You don’t get to decide that for me! For fucks sake, Harry,” Louis growls. “If you really think that this is going to end up all fine and well, you’ve obviously learned nothing since Leeds.”

Harry’s mouth parts at that, hurt pouring through him. Louis blinks up at him, realization and regret shadowing his face. “I learnt more than I ever wanted to after that night. What I do know is that it started with a conversation similar to this one. You went alone, reckless and impulsive, and it all went to shit.”

“This is different,” Louis bites.

“It’s not,” Harry says, voice hushed. “Lou, please. Just calm down, okay? Let’s go back inside, I’ll make you a fry up and we can watch a few films or something. You’re overthinking this.”

Louis’ posture slowly relaxes, a shiny flush sticking to the apples of his cheeks. Harry catches himself staring at his lips and he blinks his eyes away. He hasn’t seen him for almost two years, and within three weeks he’s already making an absolute dick of himself. He stands up.

“Alright,” Louis murmurs, looking up at Harry from under the frames of his glasses. “Alright.”

They trudge back through the dewy foliage slowly, hands resting on curved trunks sticky with sap, and wet ferns leaving trails of water on their jackets. As they break through the clearing, Harry looks up at the sky. The black cloud hovers closer, expanse of the grey smudged by distant rain.

Harry turns to Louis, a few steps behind him. His head is looking over his shoulder, eyes pulled back into the depths of the tangled shrubs.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo flashback time!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, blood

_Two Years Earlier_

 

Harry wakes with a shuddering gasp, curling into himself.

“What the fuck,” he hisses. He sits up in the dark and wraps his arms around his naked chest, skin rough with goosebumps.

Their tent door is wide open, the sleeping bag he and Louis were sharing unzipped and flung away from his body.

Louis is gone.

“What the fuck,” Harry repeats with clenched teeth, reaching for his hoodie and his phone.

He blinks blearily against the bright light of his screen, before the number finally come into focus. It’s too early for Louis’ watch. Liam should still be out there. Turning on his flashlight app he scans the tent, and curses when he notices that Louis’ belt and blades are gone, thick jacket also missing. Though of course, his com still remains untouched.

The prat has gone off by himself. Again.

Harry gets dressed hurriedly, letting out frustrated huffs as he tries to manoeuvre about the tiny tent. His breath comes out in thick, creamy clouds, his phone casting artificial white light.  He breathes in sharply through is teeth when he stumbles out of the tent into the night. The  icy air slips through any gaps in his clothes and slides along his skin.

A flash of light catches his eye, and he spots Liam walking along the edge of the forest, torch in one hand and sanctium blade in the other. He’s flipping it around in his hand, catching by the hilt, whistling to himself.

“Li,” Harry calls. He lets out a high pitched whistle to get his attention. Liam’s head snaps up. He walks to Harry quickly.

“Am I done already?” He asks, pushing his bushy hair out of his tired eyes.

“Louis’ gone,” Harry says. “I thought he might have swapped with you early. Did you see him come out here?”

Liam looks at him for a moment, before he lets out a long, tired sigh. “He’s gone off on his own again, hasn’t he?”

Harry doesn’t answer, instead stalking over to Zayn and Niall’s tents, gripping the frames and shaking them wildly. Niall screams bloody murder, and Harry hears the click of his guns.

“It’s just me!” He blanches, moving away swiftly.

“Fuck off, Harry!” Niall calls back. He unzips a tiny gap in the tent so that just his head pokes through. His hood is up over his head, fridge squished to his forehead. “What.”

“Louis is gone, get up,” Harry says as he moves back towards Zayn’s tent. “We need to find him before he gets himself killed.”

“If I don’t kill him first,” Niall mutters, head disappearing back into the darkness.

“Zayn,” Harry says firmly, tugging at the zipper at the bottom of the door harshly, bringing it all the way to the top so the flap falls open.

Zayn lifts his head slowly, squinting up at him. Harry clicks his torch on. He shines it right in Zayn’s eyes, who hisses and retracts under his covers like a vampire. “Get up, _now_.”

“Fine,” Zayn huffs, throwing his blankets away. “You worry too much about him.”

“It’s my job to worry,” Harry argues. “And if you know Louis at all, you know there’s plenty to worry about. He never sticks to the bloody plan.”

“He _can_ handle himself, you know,” Zayn raises an eyebrow, pulling his jacket on and grabbing his belt.

“Not against a Greater Demon, he can’t,” Harry says finally. He lets the flap fall shut.

They’ve been chasing a hoard of Moloch Demons out of their district and up north for two weeks now, slowly cutting down their numbers. They’d been gathering in Guildford and making their way up towards the city, hiding in the tunnels and luring civilians to river banks and drains. It seemed they were looking for something, or someone, targeting young males. Their team had caught them close to Barnes, scouring through the forest in clumps of smoke and oil. 

Now, they were tracking and hunting down the remaining few and their leader, the Greater Demon Moloch, who’d retreated up into the wetlands. The last sighting was here, in Leeds, by a duo from the Sheffield Inn. They’d tried to attack it, but it had fought them off easily, and the small team had run for their lives. From what they’d been told, Moloch was appearing in a human form, inky and dark and bound together by oil.  

Louis was the one doing a predominant amount of the tracking, tasting and touching and beating Moloch Demons half dead until they gave him any kind of clue. He was good at it, the best out of all of them. Which, like most things, made him think that he was invincible, and could take on any challenge by himself. Simon had also given him the Inn’s holy blade, which Harry thought was probably the _worst_ idea. It made Louis even more willing to throw himself into any situation, with or without the team.

Harry, on the other hand, values strength and stability in numbers.

The late night hangs over them in a heavy shadow, fog settling down as morning approaches. They’d decided not to stay at the Sheffield Inn in case it followed them there and waited. It had done so in Northampton, springing on them as they’d left to scour the area in the early morning. Harry thinks it was doing it just to taunt them, making itself visible only as a shadow. Of course, Louis had again taken it upon himself to follow after the thing into the forest, resulting in the boys having to drag him back out before he got too deep.

Zayn and Niall emerge from their tents, sanctiums flashing silver in the light as they’re slotted into their spots. It’s completely silent, an eerie hush settling over the land. They turn on their scanners and coms, and spreads out as they head towards the forest.

Harry just slips in among the foliage when he hears Louis’ voice, distant and muffled and calling his name.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asks into his com. The light from his torch in only a small circle, illuminating the spindly, prickling twigs and the looming trees in patches. It feels boxed in and oppressive.

“Nothing,” Niall answers, and Liam and Zayn agree.

Harry frowns, looking left and right. It’s so dark that all he can see is the three tiny speckles of the team’s torches as his view gets obscured when the lanky forest turns thick and heavy. Alone, and in the hush of the night, Harry starts to feel his neck prickle.

Harry’s steps become hesitant, looking back through the trees. Maybe he should call them back, or get them to meet him in the middle so they’re together at the very least. Twigs crackle around him, and he waves his light uselessly.

“Harry!”

Harry pauses, Louis’ voice echoing through the rustling leaves. He starts forward, faster this time.

“I heard him again,” Harry says into his com. “What’s your position team?”

He waits, but there’s no answer.

“Team, what’s your position?” He says again, louder, looking back over his shoulder cautiously. He stumbles over a tree root, heart lodged up into his throat as panic begins to stroke at the dip of his spine.

The fog is so, so thick when Harry steps out into the clearing, mud squelching beneath his feet as the forest floor transitions into the marsh. He can barely see his own hands in front of his face, his torch reduced to a useless glow that does nothing to help his vision. Peering behind him and down the line of the trees, he can’t see the glow of the other boy’s torches.

“Louis?” Harry calls, cupping his hands over his mouth. His voice barely even echoes.

There’s no answer, and he starts forward a few steps. He tries his com again, but there’s radio silence.

He starts to walk forward more now into the wetland, mud squishing and sticking to his boots. His steps are heavy, feet getting stuck among knotted rushes and reeds. Looking back, he can no longer see the line of the forest, only muggy fog. When he turns back around, Harry spots a tiny light in the distance, and hope rushes up inside him, masking the fear that’s been crawling up the back of his neck.

It’s when he’s about twenty meters away from the light, knees slick with mud and breath coming out in puffs, that he begins to feel the buzzing in the back of his mind. Immediately, he stops, looking around him again uselessly. Something isn’t right.

This demon is powerful, can make him see things that aren’t there and fuck with his surroundings. He curses himself, panic clawing its way back up into his throat when he realizes he has no idea which direction he came from, and if walking back in a straight line will actually lead him back to the forest.

He decides to keep moving towards the light. Even if it isn’t actually there, he might eventually reach the other side of the marsh if he walks far enough, or bump into one of the other boys.

Harry almost slips as he walks hastily towards the light, the buzzing in his head creeping forward to the front of his brain, rattling his ears. He can hear his own wheezing breath.

Finally, he starts to make out the shadow of a body through the fog, and as he gets closer he realizes its Louis, short and curvy and compact. He sighs in relief, and in frustration, ready to yank him close by the arm and drag him back to their camp.

“You are in _so_ much trouble,” Harry grumbles when he reaches him. Louis looks up at him from under his eyelashes, pupils blown wide and shadows playing over his face in the torch light. He says nothing, just stares up at Harry with blank eyes and a tense mouth. “Let’s go, _now_.”

Harry reaches out to grab Louis’ shoulder, but his hands runs straight through him, the fog warping and swirling around his hand.

Moloch breaks through the mirage of Louis’ body. The fog shifts as It lurches forward and slams Harry into the ground.

He screams as he falls back, arm coming up just in time out of reflex as Moloch’s teeth come biting down at him. His entire body is wet, cold shooting through him and freezing him up. It grins down at him, savage and wild, claws cutting into his arms.

“Did you like my little trick?” It teases, voice gravelled and scratchy, like something out of a broken toy. It strains against Harry’s arm, neck damp and slimy as It snaps Its teeth.

Harry gapes at It, body trapped under the weight of Its arms and legs. It smells like fire and burning gas, smoke and murky liquid floating around Its body like a sinister aura. It has a pointed chin, beady white eyes and a sharp mouth, almost looking human if it weren’t for the property that makes up Its body.

Moloch snarls and snaps Its jagged teeth at Harry again. He see’s movement from the corner of his eye, and then Zayn is there, throwing the demon off him and swiping his sanctium out dangerously. Harry shifts onto his side quickly, mud sticking to his back and making him shiver.

Moloch lets out an animalistic sound, body poised as if ready to pounce. Then, It vanishes and reappears in a wisp of smoke across the marsh, Its figure a dark, lopping mess. Zayn helps Harry to his feet shakily, face pale.

“It’s trying to toy with us,” Zayn says. “Don’t trust anything you see.”

The fog has started to lift, and he starts to hear voices in the distance.

“Harry!?” Niall’s voice comes through the fog, muffled but present, and both Harry and Zayn turn to look in its direction. They hear Liam’s voice too. They must have found each other.

“Harry,” Zayn murmurs. Harry follows his line of sight, over to Moloch. The demon grins at them, sinister and knowing, and vanishes again.

“ _Run_ ,” Harry says desperately. The two of them take off, leaping over tuffs of rushes, slipping in the mud.

They follow the voices of the team, trying to find their way through the dark.

Then Niall’s shouts turn frantic, afraid, and the sound of gunfire starts.

Harry grabs Zayn by the back of the jacket, making him splutter as he drags them both to the ground heavily.

“What are you-“ Zayn starts angrily, shaking the mud from his arms as he moves to get back up.

Harry tugs him back down roughly, just as the bullets start whizzing over their heads. Niall’s gunfire is frantic, like the thing isn’t standing still long enough and he’s shooting at air, bullets flying in all different directions.

There’s a thick thudding sound, and the gunfire stops abruptly. Harry and Zayn shoot up off the ground, hopefully heading in the right direction. Quite literally, they run into Liam and Niall, the four of them shouting in surprise as they suddenly collide through the fog.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Niall hollers. He’s clutching his shoulder, and blood slips between his fingers, face red.

“It’s playing with us,” Zayn explains. “Making us see shit that isn’t there.”

“Do you think It has Louis?” Liam asks quietly, looking behind him.

“Probably. Or It’s just trying to lure us out to kill us,” Zayn says grimly. Harry swallows, pulling both his sanctiums from his belt.

“It’s a pain in the ass,” Niall grits out, removing his hand from his shoulder. There’s a large gash there, cutting deep. “It kept popping up everywhere, smoke and shit all over the place.”

“I think It’s making the fog, too,” Harry says as he waves his hand through the air. “It’s closer to smoke. I saw a mirage of Louis in it.”

“Guys,” Liam says slowly, pointing behind them all. They turn, the shadow of a figure standing in the distance. “Come on-“

“No,” Zayn says. He holds his arm out as Liam goes to move. “It probably isn’t real.”

“What if it is?” Liam argues. “What if that is Louis, and he’s hurt?”

Zayn’s mouth presses into a thin line, eyes wary as he flicks between the figure and their team.

“Let’s go see. We’re together now,” Harry says. “We have a better chance of killing It.”

Time seems to stretch on as they stumble quietly through the muck, reeds rustling every so often. Moloch is nowhere to be seen, and the night is eerily calm once again.

As they get closer, Harry breaks into a run, recognizing Louis’ figure once again.

“Louis,” He calls out, breath puffing in front of him. He starts to slow when he reaches him, eyes wide.

Louis is holding his sanctium by his side, scratches and rips running along his legs and chest, blood seeping through the material. His legs are caked in mud, and he stares at the ground, body shuddering and eyes wide in shock.

“Hey,” Harry ducks down, looking into his eyes as he grabs Louis’ shoulders and shakes him. “ _Lou_.”

Harry looks down, and notices that his sanctium is stained red. “Louis!”

“Something’s not right with him,” Zayn’s voice comes from behind him.

Harry takes in a deep breath, slapping his hand against Louis’ cheek hard. Louis sucks in a choked gasp, eyes flicking upward and blinking rapidly. His sanctium drops into the mud. Harry grabs onto his shoulders and tries to keep him steady.

“What were you thinking?” Harry yells, gripping Louis tight. “How could you come out here alone like this, thinking you’d be alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers. He reaches his hand up slowly and brushes his thumb against Harry’s cheek. It stings, and Harry flinches back. He didn’t realize he’d been cut there. “Fuck. I’m sorry. It was calling out to me.”

“You should have woken us up,” Harry says. “We are a _team_. You can’t go off and do things on your own like this, or we’ll all end up dead.”

Louis says nothing, eyes flicking away and downcast, jaw clenching. Harry leans back and inspects his scratched body.

“What happened to you?” He says quietly. He runs a finger over Louis’ collarbone gently.

“I don’t know,” Louis answers, meeting Harry’s eyes uncertainly.

“Let’s get back to camp before It comes back,” Harry announces, turning to the boys. “We need to patch ourselves up.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.”

They all whirl around, the gravelly voice echoing through the marsh. The team cluster together, backs facing inward. They pull out their sanctiums, a unit.

“What do you want with us?” Louis growls, head flitting in different directions anxiously. “Why have you been following me, trying to communicate?”

Harry’s head snaps to Louis’, his eyes narrowed. He’d never mentioned that at all. _They_ were supposed to be following _It_ , not the other way around. Harry had no idea that was even _happening_. Louis looks to him briefly, guilty.

Moloch starts to materialize in front of them, fog curling inward and spiralling into a dark mass as It forms a vaguely human shape. Finally It’s contorted face appears, malicious grin sticky and taunting.

“Why, you’re the perfect little puppet,” It purrs as it comes closer to Louis. Harry lets out a snarl, starting forward and stepping in front of Louis. It vanishes, popping up on the other side of their huddle, close to Zayn and Liam. “Tied so closely to us, to our world. Such a _weak_ little vessel.”

Harry can feel the energy radiating off Louis and he’s too late to grab him as he bursts through them, swinging his blade. Moloch laughs as he evaporates, and Louis growls, spinning around. Harry has no idea what this demon is on about.

“I’m not _weak_ ,” Louis spits. “I’ll kill you, easily.”

“Will you now?” Moloch taunts, voice airy and melodic as it drifts towards them in the fog. There’s a terrible squelching sound, and they cluster back together as the marsh starts to shift around them. There are figures pulling themselves out of the mud, human like hands clawing their way from the ground, monstrous screeches and garbling filling the night. There are Raveners among the Moloch Demons, bulging bodies standing out like thick shadows.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Niall mutters behind Harry, their circle becoming more compact as the demons start to crawl towards them. Harry looks around frantically, searching for an escape. They’re trapped.

“I’ll offer you a deal,” Moloch says. It glides towards Louis’, Its grinning face right up close. Harry moves closer, protective and ready to pounce.

“I don’t make deals with filthy demons,” Louis bites as he pulls his face away,

“But I bet a demon as powerful as me has never offered you one before,” Moloch ponders, exhaling black, putrid smoke. “Think off all I can do for you.”

“The only thing you’ll do is kill me,” Louis answers evenly. “You’re all the same, no matter how grand you think you are.”

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Moloch says, beady eyes boring into Louis’. “If you come with me, I’ll call off my demons, and your team will live. Their survival means a great deal to you, yes?”

Moloch comes closer to Harry, Its legs now formed. It reaches up a swift hand, grabbing his chin roughly. Harry tries to pull away, but It keeps a firm grip.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Louis growls, pulling another blade from his belt. Moloch’s pointed grin drifts to Louis, and he squeezes Harry’s chin tighter, making him squirm. Louis’ eyes flicker, panic flashing behind them.

“I must say, this one is rather dashing, isn’t he?” Moloch muse as he tilts Harry’s face roughly, beady eyes open in wonder. “It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face.”

Harry gasps as Moloch’s claws shoot out of Its fingers and dip into his cheeks. He squirms, eyes watering at the sharp pain. He can feels the boys shifting behind him, getting closer as they back away from the slowly approaching demons.

“ _Let him go_ ,” Louis hisses viciously. “I won’t come with you if you hurt him.”

Moloch retracts Its claws, hand moving away slowly. Harry remains still and fights the urge to press his fingers into his wounds. The demon’s grin curls up around Its face, wide and winning.

“Come,” It says, holding out a distorted hand. “I must deliver you.”

Harry’s head reels. Deliver him _where?_

Louis is silent. He stands up straight and tilts his head high. “No.”

“ _No?_ ” Moloch repeats incredulously, coming forward sharply.

“No,” Louis repeats, pulling his holy blade from his belt. Moloch eyes it carefully and starts to pull away.

It’s eyes begin to curve up, and a menacing smirk melts into its features.

“As you wish,” It says softly. It looks over the marsh, body beginning to fade into the fog. “Kill the others.”

There’s an array of various snarls and howls, and the team compact themselves together, bracing themselves as the demon charge at them wildly, realizing there’s no escape.

The marsh erupts into chaos, the impact of the team meeting the demons forceful and harsh. Harry slashes his blades, ducking and weaving around them as they claw at him and pounce. They soon lose each other in the array of blood and screaming demons, bodies moving with their own fighting and disappearing among the array of dark mass.

Harry keeps a sharp eye out for the Raveners, who are scuttling around wickedly, fast and lethal. They’re not bright, and most of them are slipping in the mud and missing their targets, but Harry knows that one good bite or stab could have him down for good. He cuts down another Moloch Demon, slicing through its neck sharply and spinning under another as it lunges, dragging his blade through its stomach.

Harry tries to find a member of his team, to keep tabs on any of them. He catches a brief flash of Zayn across the rushes, but his vision becomes obscured when a demons pops up from the mud, bowling him over and sending them rolling in the wet. It gets him pinned down and Harry squirms under it, kicking his legs out and shifting his hips to try and roll it away.

Harry goes still as the things head suddenly explodes, body turning to sticky smoke as it decomposes. He sits up quickly to look over his shoulder just as Niall leaps over the top of him, running through the reeds and reloading his gun. Looking the other way, he sees Zayn sliding among the mud, quick, sharp and lethal as he cuts through the demons. He still can’t see Louis.

Harry jumps to his feet, just as a Ravener scuttles towards him, garbled gibberish scraping out of its throat as it swings its barb. He watches his footing as he dodges around it and tries to keep himself from slipping. He takes it down, a series of quick stabs and slices that have black ichor running in rivets along its back, making it shudder.

He notices that the demons are slowly lowering in number, the time between attacks becoming slower and sparser. But they’re still littering the place, and Harry lets a surprised cry when he’s knocked over again, this time too slow and caught off guard to stop the demon’s claws. He cries out as his chest blooms with pain and blood seeps through his jacket immediately. He tries to crawl away, and he can hear Louis’ voice call out to him under the hectic noise.

The demon howls, raising its hand to attack again, when a sanctium sails through the air and nails it in the throat. It lets out a strangled rasp, falling to the side and disintegrating in an acidic puff of smoke. Harry gasps as he paws at his chest, pressing his hand to his wounds. He rolls onto his stomach and looks out across the march to see Liam watching him intently, pulling another blade from his belt.

Liam gives him a thumbs up, a pile of shuddering Ravener’s surrounding him, cutting down Moloch Demons ruthlessly. Liam has always been like that, confident and unstoppable with his blades. Harry moves to his knees and looks around him, wincing. When he looks back to Liam, his eyes widen, and when he calls out, he’s too late.

The Ravener attacks Liam from behind, its giant jaw clasping around his side. Harry screams, up on his feet instantly as Liam’s face goes pale. His body collapses when the Ravener releases its hold and swings its barb, ready to kill.

Harry launches himself at it and cuts straight through its neck, pushing it aside roughly. Around him, the boys falter to a stop, blades poised mid-air as they watch on in horror. The demons around them advance still, and they’re forced to bring them down, moving themselves closer to Harry and Liam.

When Harry drops beside his body, Liam is glassy eyed and gasping, blood pouring from his side, skin torn and muscles poking through, holes gaping along his side and stomach. Harry swears, eyes wet as he puts pressure on the wound. He hands are stained completely red in seconds. He takes of his jacket, pressing it into Liam’s side. Liam’s eyes slip closed as he swallows thickly.

“No! Don’t you _dare_ close your fucking eyes!” Harry shouts brokenly. “Stay with me! Come on, Liam!”

He can’t lose him, he _refuses_ to lose him. Harry’s jacket is already damp, and he lets out another cry. Liam lets out a choked off sound, body twitching.

“Please, please, please,” Harry mutters as tears blur his vision. He looks around wildly, calling out for Zayn. He’ll know what to do. He’ll know.

The fighting has died away, the last screeches echoing through the marsh. The eerie silence comes again as the last demons shudder away, and Harry’s cries fill the silence. “ _Zayn_!”

The dark has started to fade away, the first peak of sunlight rising up over the horizon. The fog has lifted, and the marsh is painted in dark blues and greens.

Louis, Niall, and Zayn rush across the slippery ground, all of them covered in various gashes and wounds, caked in mud. When Zayn reaches them, he pushes Harry away roughly, sitting on Liam’s legs as he opens a pouch on his belt and pulls out a bunch of dried healing leaves. Harry falls back onto his palms in the mud, gaping. Zayn wrenches Liam’s mouth open, shoving the dried leaves inside. Liam thrashes and lets out a distressed scream through his closed lips. Zayn looms over him and holds his shoulders

“ _Swallow,_ ” he hisses, keeping Liam’s mouth clamped shut. Liam looks up at him wetly, sickly face contorting in pain. Zayn grabs a tub of ointment and spreads it across his wound. Liam thrashes again, letting out another pained cry, blood turning the reeds around him deep crimson.

“We have to carry him back _now_ ,” Niall says urgently. “We have to get him back to Sheffield or he’ll die!”

“It’s too far!” Zayn bites, but his voice shakes as he tries to slow Liam’s bleeding, sticking powder and leaves into his cuts. Liam’s face is wet with tears, whole body shaking in shock. Harry watches on helplessly, nausea coiling in his stomach as Liam cries, choking on air as his body shuts down.

Harry looks up at Louis, who’s standing with his mouth agape, hands hung by his sides. A surge of anger rushes through his body, and he grits his teeth.

“Liam, you need to swallow this,” Zayn says urgently, trying to pry his mouth open. Liam pulls his head away, eyes going wild and frightened. “ _Niall_.”

“Sorry mate,” Niall whispers, dropping down to his knees and holding Liam’s head still, opening his mouth sharply as Zayn drops pungent ointments onto his tongue. Liam struggles, and Niall lets out a small cry as he grips Liam’s head, trying to keep him still.

They’re all still, heaving breathes as Liam looks up with wide, pained eyes. He looks so, _so_ frightened.

“It’s okay,” Harry whispers, crawling closer and running a hand through his hair, trying to calm him. His voice is all choked, thick with tears and panic. “It’s alright, you’re alright.”

There’s stillness around them now, the four of them crowded around Liam’s body, hopeless and lost and unsure of what is about to happen to their friend. Liam is silently crying, eyes slipping shut and then snapping back open, trying to keep himself awake.

Louis steps forward slowly, taking in a shuddering breath. “Li…I-. I’m so-“

But Louis doesn’t finish, because a pair of black, smoking hands shoot out from the ground and grab his ankles, tugging on them roughly. He lets out a strangled shout as his body slams into the ground. He meets Harry’s eyes, shocked and frantic. Then he’s being dragged backward through the reeds, screaming.

“ _Louis,_ ” Zayn yells, distraught.

Harry leaps to his feet, sprinting across the marsh with his heart beating in his head. The hands turn into arms and then a body forms, and Moloch’s grinning face appears, taunting and evil. It’s claws rake down Louis’ legs as he tries to struggle away, kicking out frantically and messily. Harry panics.

“I need your blood,” Moloch grins, sinking It’s nails into Louis’ stomach. He screams, body twitching. Harry cries out, tripping over a knot of reeds, stumbling towards them. “ _He_ needs it, was promised it.”

Harry’s blood flares, and he slams into Moloch’s side, pulling Louis’ holy blade from his belt as he sails over him. He stabs the demons neck ruthlessly, over and over, snarling. Moloch lets out a guttural scream, beady eyes flashing angrily as It tries to dematerialize, smoking curling around them. He pulls his arm back, the holy blade spearing through the demons sinister face savagely. It lets out another howl as its eyes flicker and go blank. Finally, It starts to fade away in fragments, a ghost of a smirk on Its face as it disappears.

Harry lets out strangled breathes, whirling around. Louis’ body lies still among the reeds, limbs awkward. Harry crawls towards him with heavy breathes. His clothes are torn and hanging off his body, blood seeping through his pants and shirt.

“Lou,” he whispers, reaching out for him. Louis grips his hand so tightly it hurts. He looks up at Harry with fear in his eyes, breathe raspy, head lolled to the side. Harry leans down and kisses his forehead, brushing his hair away as Louis whines high in his throat, shifting. “Stay still, my love. C’mon. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

He carries Louis through the mud, clenching his eyes shut as he feels his blood dripping onto his hands. Zayn has moved off Liam’s legs, instead running his hands through his hair soothingly. Niall is holding his hand, face blotchy. The boy looks close to death, blood everywhere and side torn open.

“Can we save him?” Harry whispers, mind in shock.

Zayn’s shoulders shake as he sniffs, looking up to Harry with devastation. “Sheffield is an hour away.”

“We should try a normal hospital, closer to here, call it a dog attack,” Harry says softly. Louis shifts in his arms, wincing. “They could stop the bleeding at least.”

Zayn shakes his head. “They won’t be able to, not wounds like this from a Ravener. It’s not just stitches they need to stop the bleeding, which is what’s going to kill him. And we’d be questioned straight away, look at us.”

Louis shifts again, letting out a pained sound. “Haz,” he rasps.

Harry looks down at him, eyes wet. “Yeah, love?”

“We need to try,” he says softly, eyes fluttering closed.

“Wrap him up,” Harry says, swallowing. “Get his wound shut in tight, let’s get him back to Sheffield.”

They move swiftly back through the forest, the effect of their injuries slowly overlapping their fading adrenaline. Harry almost cries out with every step, and he knows Niall and Zayn are struggling as they carry Liam’s unmoving body in their shaking hands.

They leave all their things, opening up the doors of the car straight away and loading inside. The passenger seat gets adjusted so it’s almost horizontal and they lie Liam across is. Niall gets into the driver seat and Harry sits behind him. Louis sits half on his lap, his face buried into his neck. He presses his lips into his skin, and Harry can feel him wince as he cuts his shirt away from his body carefully and starts to dress his wounds. Zayn is tucked behind the passenger seat, leaning over it awkwardly to keep his hands running through Liam’s hair, whispering to him.

The car roars as Niall speeds down the back roads, a weary silence settling over them. Louis falls asleep pressed against Harry, hands curled into his shirt. In the silence, Harry mind is whirring, an array of conflicting emotions surging up within him and wetting his eyes.

Liam occasionally lets out a choked gasp, another spurt of blood running into the seat of the car through the layers of fabric wrapped around him, and all of them hold in their breathes. But then he keeps breathing -slowly, very slowly- and they relax just a little.

Harry can’t stop his mind from reeling backwards, wondering when Louis decided to leave them and to go out into the wetlands alone. When he decided it would be a good idea, when he thought that they wouldn’t come after them and get trapped out there with a Greater Demon.

He tries to shove it down, to close his eyes and think of anything else, but he can’t stop the anger that starts to chew away at him as he looks between Liam and Louis. Louis has always thought himself invincible, a natural talent. But now, as they sit in silence and remorse, Harry can’t help but let a sense of betrayal and distrust burn right through him.

He pulls his neck away from Louis’ lips, resting his head against the window instead and sending a prayer that they make it in time. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel like every chapter i should just be like, warning: simon cowell is an asshat
> 
> warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence

Harry stays in Louis’ room the following night, and the next few.

He’s quiet, cautious, and most noticeably, afraid to be left on his own for too long. Harry asks no questions when Louis grabs his hand, pulls him down under the covers and curls up close. All he concentrates on is the warmth radiating off of Louis’ body and the soft breathes that puff against his neck. He ignores the familiar feeling stirring in the pit of his belly, wills away reminiscent memories that threaten to float back to him.

Louis hasn’t mentioned anything about leaving again, but Harry can’t help but come close to losing his mind when he wakes up in the morning (always later than usual), to find the other side of the bed empty. When he’s done running around the Inn looking for him, he finds him out in the grounds, walking the same route Harry takes. There’s always a moment of awkwardness when Harry finds him, as if Louis can tell exactly what he was thinking.

Three days after the attack, Simon enters the kitchen during breakfast, a few other teams lingering behind him. Everyone in the room freezes, looking to each other curiously. It’s rare that he eats with them, even rarer that he asks for them in the morning. A few teams linger in the doorway, having obviously been rounded up by Simon on his way in. The room slowly fills up.

A dark splatter of cloud has settled over them for the last few days, rain fluctuating between a misty drizzle and an enraged downpour. At the moment, the water falls in sheets, pattering against the windows and making the tiled room look hazy. 

Their team is sitting together at their own table, bunched together and sleep worn, nuzzled into their hoodies and sweaters.

“This can’t be good,” Niall says. He twists around in his chair, munching on his toast thoughtfully as Simon approaches the head of the room.

“Can I have everyone sitting down, please?” He asks. The teams reluctantly take their seats, and Harry can see him now over the sea of heads.

A palpable tenseness settles around them, inquisitive necks craned as they all watch Simon.

“As you’re all aware, over the past few weeks the demon activity that has flooded the country has been greatly affecting our Inn,’ he starts, voice projecting throughout the room. “Just a few days ago, a demon was granted access to our grounds, unbeknown to us. It came with a message. That message included a threat that the Greater Demon, Agramon, is coming for us.”

There’s a sweep of muttering around the room. Harry glances across the table at Louis. He has one of his knees propped up on his chair, his chin balanced in the palm of his hand. At the mention of Agramon’s name, his gaze flickers to the tabletop.

“Right now, we still don’t know what Agramon’s motive is,” Simon explains. “It is in our best interest to assume that Its power will be heightened during the eclipse, and that It may call on an army to attack us, all of us, all over the country. As you’re all also aware, we are still yet to locate any symbols or any signs of Agramon in our district. But this is not to say that we will not be heavily under the crossfire of this attack.”

“I need you all on high alert,” his eyes scan over the room. “There is a very real possibility that we won’t be able to attack Agramon until the eclipse, at which time Its power will be at Its greatest. We can’t stop the eclipse. It’s a natural force and we can’t do anything about it. It _will_ happen. But we can destroy the demons.”

“From now on, you will not go anywhere, inside the Inn or out, without another hunter with you. You will not leave your rooms without a sanctium on your persons. Unless you are authorized for a mission, you are not to leave the Inn for _any_ reason.”

There’s a smattering of uproar, teams looking between each other incredulously. Simon’s face remains stony as the hunters’ voices raise. Harry and the rest of his team glance nervously at each other, chaos swirling around them.

Harry is surprised, and he wonders if Simon actually listened to him for once. He isn’t letting them out, yes, but he _is_ calling everyone else back. He wonders if this really is a good idea. If Simon will actually send anybody out on missions, or if their district is going to become overrun by rogue demons. He can’t make them all stay, surely. He can’t let those demons go unattended.

Looking around at his own team, his stomach sinks a little. They all look broody, silent anger simmering underneath them. They’ve been trapped in here for so long, and Harry knows how badly they need to get out. But after Simon’s spiel, Harry doesn’t know how that’s going to happen.

“Absolute bullshit,” Zayn mutters under his breath. He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “We’re not safe here. We’re not safe anywhere.”

“It’s all he can do,” Harry says gently, trying to ease the electrical air around them.

“I didn’t come here to be a prisoner,” Zayn says, irked. “I came here to find a symbol, and put these demons back to where they came from. I would have stayed in Sheffield if I’d known.”

“Z,” Louis says sharply. “Drop it. It’s done. We’re in this together now.”

Zayn blinks at him in surprise, mouth opening and closing. Harry too raises his eyebrows, soft warmth pooling in his stomach.

“I’m sorry to have to do this,” Simon’s voice cuts over the noise. The harsh chatter eventually simmers away, all eyes back to him. “Your safety is important to me. Some of you will still be going on missions, just not as many as you’re used to. Please, this is no time for arguments and unnecessary rows. The strength of our Inn together, as a unit, is what’s going to pull us through this. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

The chaos resumes once the man has left the room, teams practically shouting over one another to get their opinion on the matter in. Harry gestures to the other boys, and they leave the room silently, instead settling into one of the lounges. Even with the door shut, the echoed arguing coming from the dining room slips in underneath the cracks.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t agree with this,” Zayn sighs, falling onto one of the couches ungracefully.

“At least it’s not just us now,” Harry says. “Every team is affected by it.”

“But I bet I can tell you who’s going to get those missions,” Liam says. He sits down next to Zayn and leans his elbows on his knees, face tense.

“Li,” Harry starts.

“Sorry, but I have to agree with Zayn,” Liam says sheepishly. “I don’t normally want to go looking for trouble. But, in this case, we have to.”

“We don’t,” Louis says. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

“Yes we do,” Zayn argues. “Hundreds of demons, possibly an army. Agramon is floating around out there too somewhere.”

“So, what? Do you want to just defy everything that Simon’s told us to do?” Harry snaps. “Just go out there without telling anyone and look for one of the most powerful demons in existence? No proper weapons, no idea on how to kill it, just go for a drive?”

Zayn breathes in deeply, features simmering into frustration. “Of course not, don’t be an asshole. I’m just confused. Simon said himself that he thinks we can handle this. He brought us together so we could help. All we’ve done is stay trapped in here.”

“Look, I’m not happy about this either. But I’d rather every team be in the same situation. It’s better than sitting in here knowing there are others out there dying.”

“That’s still going to happen!” Zayn exclaims. “You heard what that _thing_ said. We’re making it worse for ourselves by leaving those demons unattended.”

“We need to go after them,” Niall pipes up. Harry whips his head around to look at him. “Even if it’s just local, we need to get out of here.”

“And what will you do?” Harry huffs. “Steal Simon’s maps?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Niall shrugs.

Harry blanches. “I was _kidding_.”

“I’ll distract him for a while,” Zayn offers. “Get him out onto the grounds, I don’t know.”

“ _Guys-_ “

“We can leave later than we normally would, after he’s gone to bed,” Liam says.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Harry yells. The three of them look up at him. “Can we slow down, please?”

“We don’t have time,” Zayn says, standing up. “We’ll discuss everything over dinner.”

With that, he leaves the room without another word. Harry watches him go, mouth hanging open. This isn’t going to work. He looks back to Liam and Niall with a scowl.

“Sorry, H,” Niall says softly. “It’s what’s best.”

“We shouldn’t be rushing into this,” Harry pleads.

“That’s all we _can_ do now,” Liam says.

Harry lets out a long sigh as they leave, letting his shoulders droop. The noise from the dining room has melted away, only the gentle murmurings of conversation floating in here and there. Louis stands behind one of the couches, his arms folded over the back of it as he leans against it.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Louis says quietly.

“You and me both,” Harry says absently, scratching at his arm.

Louis lets out a little puff of laughter. Harry looks up, and is met with an amused smile. “Looks like we finally agree on something, huh Styles?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles back. “It’s a miracle.”

-

Niall meets them in the dining room late, when most of the others teams have already come and gone for dinner. Harry has barely said a word to either Liam or Zayn, and has taken a seat next to Louis. Zayn had eyed them suspiciously when he’d come inside, and hadn’t said a word. Liam, bless him, is attempting some kind of small talk with Louis, but it mostly fizzles out in the tense atmosphere.

“He’ll know,” Niall says as he sits down. “I had to move shit around to find them. If we don’t leave before he realizes we’re fucked.”

“We’ll be fine,” Zayn says absently. He holds his hand out expectantly. Niall hesitates when he meets Harry’s eye, but he reaches into his pocket and hands over a folded piece of paper anyway.

Zayn sits up a little in his chair, does a quick check around the room, and then starts to unfold the map quietly. They all huddle in, looking over the coloured splotches that the radar has picked up over their district. There are lots of little patches of green and yellow scattered about, but there’s also a giant spike of red, heading south-west from the Inn, at Surrey.

“How old is this?” Liam asks. He presses his finger down onto the red patch.

“Yesterday,” Niall says. “There were a few reports too, but I didn’t take them. Most of the activity from the south-west is coming up this way.”

“Towards us?” Harry says.

“North-east,” is all Niall says. Harry sits back in his chair, stomach churning. “The spike in Surrey is up that way too, somewhere around Weybridge, or Chertsey.”

“We’ll start at Weybridge, then work our way back up,” Zayn says. He draws a line with his finger as he speaks.

Harry can feel an uncomfortable buzzing in the back of his mind, the beginnings of a headache blooming at the base of his skull. This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

“If any of us get hurt and we go to the infirmary, Simon will know,” he says quietly.

“We can handle it,” Zayn says. “And if he does find out, good. Maybe he’ll get a wakeup call.”

“Zayn,” Louis hisses, brows furrowed in surprise and frustration. “You’re acting like a bloody fool.”

Harry almost flinches in his seat at the sound of his voice. He’s been quiet all day, and hasn’t spoken at all through any of their discussions of their plan. He’d almost moulded into the wall he’s leaning against.

“You’d know,” Zayn huffs condescendingly. Harry’s hackles rise. He should know better than to bring that shit up.

“Come off it, that was low and you know it,” Louis rolls his eyes, not taking the bait. “I think we all need to calm down and reassess what we’re doing.”

“It’s too late now,” Zayn argues, standing. “We’ve got the maps. Simon will know if we’re gone, or if we were going to, either way. Might as well bite the bullet.”

“You _need_ to listen to me,” Louis says desperately. He looks up at Zayn with wide, pleading eyes. “This won’t end well.”

“Add it to the list,” Zayn says. He gathers up the map, slipping it into his pocket. “Meet out back in twenty.”

They scatter awkwardly back to their rooms. Harry feels sick with nerves. There’s a rut between them, dividing them, and it’s going to be a disaster. He doesn’t have a problem sharing control with the rest of his team. But at the moment, he feels like nobody is holding any power. Everything is up in the air, and this mission is either going to succeed or have catastrophic effects. Harry prays that none of them get hurt again.

For some reason his room is absolutely freezing. He pulls in a sharp breath between his teeth as the door clicks shut behind him, goosebumps raising on his arms as he flicks a switch and turns the hazy blue light into a glowing yellow. Harry opens his draws and tugs out his heavy jacket and thick pants and begins changing.

He’s digging through his draws in a desperate search for one of his black long sleeve shirts when there’s a tentative knock at the door. Harry freezes, sliding the draw closed slowly. He pads across the bally carpet and opens the door with a creek as he peers into the hall.

Louis looks up at him, all small and hunched over, and zipped up completely in his gear. He’s clutching one of Harry’s jumpers in his hands, and looks rather sheepish. Harry realizes then that he’s only wearing his pants and his thin undershirt that scoops low down his chest and is cut off at the shoulders. He feels himself flush when Louis’ eyes run over his body.

Finally, his eyes snap back up. His smile is uncertain, shy. “Hey.”

Harry steps back, opening the door wider. “Hey.”

“Um, you left this in my room,” Louis explains after a beat of awkward silence, stepping inside cautiously. Harry leans forward as he closes the door. Their bodies brush together.

“Thanks,” he says softly. Louis holds out the jumper stiffly. Harry takes it, a tiny smile working its way onto his face.

He shoves it into one of his draws and resume sifting through another, searching for his shirt. He lets out a tiny triumphant sound when he finds it among a mess of tangled fabric. Louis is silent, and Harry looks up at him curiously.

“Are you alright?” He says slowly. Louis is leant back against the door, hands clasped together tightly in front of him. His eyes flit about every few seconds, jittery and unfocused. Harry closes his draw swiftly, and the sound makes Louis jump. “Louis?”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Louis says, shaking his head. Harry can see the mistiness that’s settled in his eyes, the thickness of his voice and the quiet, choked off sound he makes when he tries to swallow around the lump forming in his throat. “I’ve got the worst feeling.”

“I won’t let the other three go by themselves,” Harry says.

“I know, I know,” Louis says quickly. “But. I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

He takes in a shuddering breath and Harry moves across the room quickly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “That won’t happen,” he murmurs. He ducks his head down slightly to look Louis in the eye. “We’ll look out for each other, yeah? Keep everyone in check.”

Louis nods stiffly, sniffing as he tries to collect himself, Harry moves his hand higher up, resting where his neck and shoulder meet to rub softly. He looks so out of place in his gear like this, so frightened and unsure and anxious, but also lethal. Harry remembers how they used to be before missions, all over each other with amped up adrenaline and excitement over their next task. The newest location, an adventure. And they were doing it together.

Now, it’s different. Everything Harry does feels so weighted, like the world is balancing on a thin axis and just the slightest mistake will send it toppling over and cracking. The eager adrenaline that he used to feel has been morphed and squashed into crippling fear. So much could go wrong. So much is riding on this. Their lives, and millions of others.

And Louis is different too. He was probably the most eager of them all. Always ready first and off like a bullet as soon as he caught sight of anything, any track or any spot on a radar. Harry realizes now, that those first few weeks he returned to Old Barnes might have just been a front, a solid wall to how he was really feeling. Maybe it was just because Harry was there. They used to see eye to eye on everything. Everything except their missions. Harry really never could pin Louis down, and sometimes, he almost didn’t want to.

Harry almost jumps out of his skin when he feel’s Louis’ fingers brush against his chest, lost in his head. They’ve gravitated towards one another, and Harry swallows thickly as Louis spreads his fingers over the thick, jagged scars that runs down his skin. His face is a mixture of emotions, eyes watered as he starts to brush his fingers down.

Harry breathes out slowly, mouth falling open as he relaxes into the touch. Louis’ fingers are a feather-light drag, and it makes him shiver involuntarily. Harry knows where the scars end, just above his navel, but Louis’ fingers keep trailing down. They come to rest at the waistband of his pants, his fingers toying with the bottom of his shirt.

Harry closes his eyes briefly and swallows again. He tries to stop himself from pushing closer and crowding Louis up against the wall, from falling into him uselessly. Louis looks up at him as he takes a breath, and Harry can see every little detail of his face. The delicate fan of his lashes and the deep chasm of colour that swirls in his eyes. They’re soft and full of what Harry recognizes as agony, and he blinks down in confusion.

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispers, pressing his fingers into Harry’s skin. He knows what it means, what he’s implying. The sincerity and brokenness in Louis’ voice makes his sag forward a little, drifting closer.

“It’s okay,” he whispers back, hand settling against Louis’ hip. “It’s okay.”

Louis nods absently, eyelashes fluttering as his gaze slips to Harry’s lips. Harry dips his head down, pressing his forehead to Louis’. He can feel his warm breath on his mouth, can feel the tiny brush of Louis’ lashes against his cheeks. They’re moving backwards unknowingly, pressed up against the wood of the door as their hands spread.

“Okay,” Louis breathes, barely even a sound. They fall together simultaneously, meeting on an exhale with delicate lips. Everything is soft and lush and Harry lets his eyes slip closed, electricity zipping up his spine as Louis tugs on the bottom of his shirt. Time is suspended around them.

It’s breathy and shaky and they touch cautiously and curiously, hands shuddering as they grip and pull and explore. Despite everything rushing around him and the white noise in his mind, he kisses Louis slow, slips his fingers under his tight jacket to brush against his soft skin. It makes Louis gasps into his mouth, makes his body stutter forward. His body is warm and smooth, so much like Harry remembers that it makes his stomach swoop.

Louis’ hand is still curling into the waistband of his pants, the other digging into his collarbone and sliding up his neck. His smell is everywhere and the wet press of their mouths sounds like an explosion in Harry’s ears, headache pushed away by a numb tingling. God, he’s missed this. He’s missed Louis so much.

They pull away to breathe, and Harry’s lips drag against Louis chin, making him shiver. Their foreheads stay pressed together, noses bumping as their eyes meet. Harry’s heart stutters when he sees that Louis eyes are wet, brimming with tears as he grips Harry tightly.

“Lou,” he mumbles. He brings a hand up to cradle his cheek when the first few tears fall. Louis closes his eyes, turns his face into his hand and breathes in deeply, brows pinching together.

“Fuck,” he chokes out. Harry pulls his face away slightly, trying to give him space to breath. Louis won’t let go, though, and he keeps him held close, bodies pressed together.

“Baby.” It slips out, and Harry’s heart drops into his stomach when Louis’ eyes flicker open. He used to call him that all the time, so casual and fond, caring. Louis blinks up at him, and Harry tries not to choke around the ball in his throat.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” Louis says after a moment. His voice is so quiet that Harry has to lean in close to hear.

“What is it?” He asks, brushing his thumb softly over his cheek.

Louis shakes his head, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling it away from his face. “I don’t know how to-. I can’t. I don’t know what this could mean.”

“I can help you figure it out,” Harry says. “Lou, you know you can trust me.”

“Harry,” he whines, and it’s so laced with fear, his eyes wide and his hands gripping his shirt desperately.

They both flinch when there are two loud knocks on the door, their little bubble broken as Louis’ hand’s lose their grip. Harry feels himself slump forward, tension easing from his neck, heartbeat drifting away from his ears.

Louis sidesteps out of the way just as the door is flung open and Niall’s face appears. He looks like a grumpy toddler, except for the shiny metal of his guns and blades.

“Will you _hurry up!_ ” he whisper shouts, gesturing wildly. “What’s taking so long?”

Harry clenches his teeth together and keeps his eyes straight ahead, not daring to look where Louis is pressed against the wall, out of sight.

“Sorry,” Harry says. Niall shushes him before he can even get the word out, shaking his head. Harry raises his eyebrows.

“Get your shit together, you’re late.”

With that, he leans back out into the hallway, taking the door with him. It clicks shut, and Harry waits for his footsteps to disappear before he finally allows himself to breathe.

“I should go,” Louis says hurriedly. He’s already reaching for the door handle, but Harry moves forward, blocking him.

“Can we talk later?” he says. Louis presses his lips together and looks away.

“Yeah, alright,” he says. Harry steps closer and presses a soft kiss to his forehead.

“See you in a minute,” Harry says, stepping away slowly to reach for his jacket.

“See you,” Louis mumbles. He casts one last look in Harry’s direction, before he blinks rapidly and slips out the door, cheeks pink.

-

The drive to Weybridge reminds Harry a lot of their trip to Redditch, which is both concerning and extremely uncomfortable.

This time, Harry is wedged in the backseat between Zayn and Louis. If there was no noise coming out of the engine, a pin drop could be heard in the silence.

Harry could feel disaster setting in the second they starting walking across the grounds to where their cars are parked. Zayn and Louis had argued back and forth for five minutes over whose car was the loudest simply for the sake of bickering. Harry had suggested they take his, but that was rapidly shut down by four withering glares, and Niall’s claim that Harry’s car was a ‘certified shit box.’

They’ve ended up in Liam’s car, after all the arguing, simply because Liam left their little huddle and hopped in. He’d started the engine and begun backing out, and they’d all cursed and ran after him. Unfortunately, Harry wasn’t quick enough, and Niall snubbed the passenger seat, leaving him to sit between the other two. They haven’t said a word since the left Old Barnes, both of them staring out their respective windows with scowls.

Harry has his shoulders hunched in and his knees tucked together, afraid to even breathe. Zayn might bite his head off. He has a _really_ bad feeling about this.

The drive isn’t particularly long but it feels like it stretches for at least two hours. Liam’s left the radio off and it’s too awkward to turn it on now, so they all sit in silence. Niall fidgets constantly and Harry fights the urge to reach forward and slap his shoulder.

They’re soon driving past beautiful terraced houses and large properties, crossing over the river and into the heart of the town. Harry doesn’t see any other people or cars. The beginnings of a sluggish fog is starting to settle around them, and Liam flicks on his fog lights to see through the inky dark.

“Holy fuck,” Niall hisses as they slide out of the car. Harry’s body instantly stiffens against the air, muscles turning frigid as the chill digs its claws in.

Despite the fog settling on the ground the sky is clear and crisp, washing everything out in dull blues and silvers. The streetlamps are foggy and do little to light their path. Beside Harry, Zayn clicks his scanner on, tiny beeps sounding too loud for the brittle night.

Almost instantly it starts beeping rapidly, readings spiking as Zayn turns and looks down the long street.

“Let’s go,” he says. He pulls his hood up over his face against the cold, and begins walking quickly.

The further they walk, the higher Harry’s stomach crawls upward towards his throat. It’s too familiar. The town is deserted, dark, and lifeless. Unnaturally cold, like the air has hands and is brushing its fingers down his spine. He’s beginning to feel Liam’s hesitancy. Whilst before he was walking beside Zayn, he now trails a few steps behind, hand resting against one of his blades. His head won’t stop looking from side to side.

They cross over a bridge, the black river gurgling beneath them and shimmering in the moonlight. The wood creaks as they cross, and the boughs of the trees are bent over and caressing the rotting railings. A few of them reach out and brush against Harry’s arms. He tries to curl into himself. He can’t stop shivering.

The grounds before them stretch out long and wide. Thick, tall trees loom over and surround them. Harry’s steps slow as they begin to walk, hesitancy and fear holding him tight.

“Zayn,” he tries to say, but it gets clogged up in his throat. He finally catches up when Zayn stops walking, almost dead centre of the grounds. He’s looking down at his scanner curiously.

“What is it?” Harry says.

“Well, according to this,” Zayn murmurs, tapping his finger on the side of the screen, “we’re standing right on top of them.”

Harry whips his head around in surprise when he feels a hand on his jumper. Louis pulls him closer, huddling up together. Harry gives him a questioning look, and Louis slides his sanctium out of his belt slowly, face pale.

Underneath them, the ground shudders, and hands come shooting up out of the ground.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Niall shouts, jumping back and bumping into Harry. They scramble to crowd in together, blades shining in the light as they prepare themselves.

The things pull themselves out of the ground. Harry feels himself going woozy.

They don’t have eyes, their face just a gaping mouth full of jagged, rotting teeth. Their bodies are hazy and black, made up of a substance that Harry can’t describe. They look like something out of a nightmare, lumbering and half formed. There are three of them.

“What the _fuck_ are those?” Liam exclaims, voice bordering on a shriek as fear coils around them.

None of them have time to answer, because the demons advance.

Harry’s mind shuts down as his body goes into autopilot, years of fighting and training changing his stance and twirling his blades in his hands. One of them runs straight at him and Louis.

They both dodge out of the way and turn quickly. Louis is already ducking back in, avoiding the things arms and slicing right up its stomach and chest. Harry moves around it as it stumbles, jaw clicking together at the high pitched screech it lets out. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard, like a fork scratching against fine china. He shudders and rolls his neck to try and get his body to cooperate with him.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” he hears Louis mutter. The demon turns back to them slowly, the deep wound in its body making a sickly wet sound as it patches itself back together. Its giant mouth curls into a smirk. Harry can hear the others behind him, demons screeching and blades slashing.

“Cut off their heads!” He shouts across the grounds. Zayn is fighting one by himself, hair hanging into his eyes as he swipes at the demon lethally. Liam and Niall look to him quickly. They nod in understanding.

The demon snarls as they advance, quick and agile. Harry feels his lips curl up into a frustrated growl as it swerves around them, it’s lumbering body adapting to their rapid movements. It keeps making these guttural sounds, chittering and sharp, like it’s laughing at them. Harry tries to control his breathing, but for some reason he can’t stop the anger swelling inside him.

He launches himself forward suddenly and pushes the demon into the ground. It screeches in surprise, instantly snapping its teeth at him. Harry feels lightheaded as its breath reaches him, stomach churning dangerously. But that doesn’t stop him from cutting into its throat savagely. He stabs his sanctium in and then _tugs_ , slicing at its thick, slimy skin.

Its sounds turn garbled and wet as it chokes on its own insides, but Harry doesn’t stop. He hasn’t fought like this for weeks, and he can feels every ounce of pent up aggression pouring out of him as he raises his blade high. He almost whirls around and slashes his blade out when he feels someone grip his wrist tightly, stopping him from sending down another blow.

“ _Harry!_ ” Louis is saying over and over, eyes wild and afraid.

Harry takes in a shuddering breath as he comes back to himself. He blinks rapidly as he looks down at the demon. It’s whole face and upper half is mutilated, sliced up and exposed. Its head is no longer connected to its body. He crawls off of it rapidly, chest heaving. Across the grounds, Liam, Niall and Zayn look on with open mouths.

“Sorry,” he says uselessly, to no one.

The wind buzzes around them, trees rustling as a breeze picks up. The smell of the demon is pressed into him and he squeezes his eyes shut, lurching forward as his stomach threatens to empty.

“Hey, hey,” Louis crouches next to him. “Harry, _breathe_ , alright? It’s alright.”

“I’ve never seen those before,” Liam says as he comes closer, followed by Niall and Zayn. “They almost looked like-“

“Moloch demons,” Louis says absently, lips pulled into his mouth.

The whistling wind turns into a howl, and Harry closes his eyes and ducks his head down.

“Do you think they could be Agramon’s?” Zayn questions.

“It’s possible,” that’s Niall voice, but it sound so distant.

He can feel Louis’ hands, can hear the soft _Harry?_ that’s whispered to him. But he can’t find it in himself to respond at all. He shudders against the wind, stomach bubbling and his throat closing up. He feels so ill, and he leans forward slightly, opening his eyes.

There’s conversation around him but it’s lost in the roaring gusts. White noise explodes around him, and he can’t hear, can only blink dumbly as he looks around, feeling outside of his body. He can see Louis’ face, can see the movement of his mouth, but he can’t do anything but stare and recognize.

The wind whips through him and he tilts sideways, looking out to the other side of the grounds. He can’t feel anything, just the icy chill of the wind. It feels like he’s floating, like the ground has sunk away beneath him and now he’s just hovering with no bearings.

The leaves scuttle past him in a rush, swirling together viciously. It makes his head buzz as they slap against his skin and drag past him, pulled out towards the trees. The leaves start to take shape, the high pitched ringing in his head causing his eyes to water.

The leaves fall away, and his mind goes incredibly quiet.. He hears nothing.

“Harry, sweetheart,” the voice floats towards him. He feels himself stand, feels his body move on its own accord.

His mother stands in the distance, soft brown hair floating around her face, skin glowing and her white dress stark against her skin. Harry gapes, slipping over his own feet as he moves towards her. She seems almost to glide to him, angelic and untouchable.

“Mum,” he chokes, face wet. He can’t believe it’s her, that she’s finally come to see him. God, he’s missed her so, _so_ much. “You came back for me.”

“Of course, my darling,” she coos. “It’s been so long, my sweet boy. Come on, let’s go home.”

“Okay,” he sniffles. “I missed you so much.”

“I know, love,” she murmurs. Harry’s body sags as he walks, her voice a hushed wave that drags him closer. She absolutely glows, a soft yellow light radiating around her. “But we can be together now. Hold my hand, little dove.”

Harry tries to reach for her, but he can’t. He can’t reach. And he walks faster, and faster, and faster. But he can’t reach her. She still stands across the grounds, and Harry starts to breathe faster, stomach heaving.

“Mum,” he whispers, breaking into a run. “ _Mum._ ”

“Come on, Harry,” she calls, holding out her hand to him. “Let’s go home.”

“I’m coming, I promise,” he says desperately, wheezing as his vision starts to blur with tears. His neck strains as he walks.

Finally, she begins to come close, and Harry feels his breath return, hope filling him as he grabs onto her hand. Her palm is smooth and warm. He marvels at her and blinks up with an open mouth as she smiles down at him. Her eyes are green pools of gooey liquid, glittering and peaceful.

She places a soft hand against his cheek, running the backs of her fingers down. Harry’s eyes flutter closed as he leans towards her. He breathes in sharply through his nose as fat tears fall down.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispers as she strokes his face. “Look how you’ve grown.”

In the distance he can hear a mix of other voices, hoarse and desperate. But he pushes them away, lets his head loll forward as his mother hums to him. It’s been years since he’s seen her, touched her, and heard her voice. Everything about her is so familiar, so warm and caring.

Behind her, a demon appears and latches itself onto her throat, ripping her neck open. Her blood splatters and sprays onto Harry’s face thickly, and he can feel his entire body freeze.

He lets out a choked sound as his mother falls, the demon grinning wickedly as it disappears in a wisp of foul smoke.

Phantom hands latch onto his shoulders, his whole body going tense as he falls beside her. Her blood pools onto the ground, staining his pants and his hands. He can taste metal in his mouth, and the bile surges up into his throat.

It makes him a moment to realize that the strange, rasping sounds that he’s hearing is his own voice. And then he realizes that there is no air in his lungs, and that he is screaming and screaming and screaming,

“ _No!”_ A gasping breath. “ _Mum, please!”_ A shuddering wheeze.

She’s getting further and further away, and Harry scrambles on his hands and knees to reach her. But he can’t. All he can feel is the sticky blood on his face. He can’t stop screaming for her.

Harry feels arms grab him around the waist and he lashes out violently, shoving them away as he tries desperately to grab her hand. He’s lying almost flat on the ground, body contorted as he takes in choked breaths. He drags his hands over his face roughly. The blood won’t come off.

Her head is turned towards him. Her eyes are vacant, her neck torn open and bleeding out. The bile gets caught in Harry’s throat, and it stays there. His eyes water and he starts to see spots in his vision, his whole body starting to shake and spasm viscously.

There is no air in his lungs. He isn’t breathing.

Suddenly, Louis’ face appears in his blurry vision, panicked and distraught as he pushes his hands against Harry’s chest. Harry tries to gain control of his arms to shove him away, but his throat is constricted and it feels like there’s bubbling ink trapped there.

He tries to let out another scream, but it gets caught and gurgled in his throat, liquid pooling over the sides of his mouth. The entirety of his chest is sunken in.

Around him, the wind howls. When it reaches his ears, it turns to explosive static.

Wetness falls against his face from above.

He closes his eyes.

He hasn’t been breathing for a while now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a chapter of calm after the bullshit i pulled in the last chapter. 
> 
> (harry voice: OR IS IT???)

When Harry manages to get his crusted eyes to open, he looks at Amelia for about three seconds before he vomits into the bucket she’s holding in front of him.

She holds his hair away from his face, stroking it and murmuring softly. Harry reaches out holds the bucket in a vice grip as his chest heaves.

“There you go, love,” she rubs his back. “Let it out.”

He coughs and splutters, nose running as he empties his stomach violently.

When he finally stops and can breathe again, Amelia hands him a plastic cup filled with water. She gives him a sad smile, eyes full of worry. The water drips down his mouth in his hurry to swallow. His throat feels dry, like there are razor blades nestled inside it.

“I’ll get you some more water,” Amelia says. She runs a hand through his hair again and gets up, taking the bucket with her

Harry lets out a long breath, trying to collect himself and slow his heart down. That fails, however, when he notices the figure slumped over the end of his bed.

Louis lies face down, head cradled in his arms as he sleeps. His fingers rest against Harry’s shin gently. Harry blinks rapidly, breath quickening as he shifts his body, nudging Louis’ forehead with his leg.

The boy shoots up awkwardly, head lolled slightly as he wakes. He lets out a snuffling sound, wincing as he tilts his neck. His eyes are circled with dark purple, exhaustion obvious on his features. When he meets Harry’s eyes he freezes. Harry can’t stop the tears that spill over, confusion and anxiety pressing against his skull.

“Hey, love,” Louis coos, shuffling closer in his chair and holding his hand. “Let’s just breathe, alright? See, we’re in the infirmary back at the Inn. Safe and sound.”

He swallows down his shaky sobs, eyes flitting around the room. Soft, pastel colours and gentle light. He tries to concentrate on the warm blankets tucked around his body, the plush, worn mattress, Louis’ skin.

“That’s it,” Louis says softly as Harry swallows, chest calming.

They sit in silence. Harry can’t manage any words. All his mind is focusing on is what he saw in Weybridge, what he felt, heard, smelt, touched. It all felt so real.

“Haz,” Louis says, voice more serious now. Harry meets his eye hesitantly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I really need you to try and tell me what happened.”

“I don’t really know what happened,” Harry murmurs. It’s not exactly a lie.

“H, you were screaming so much, it was just…” Louis shakes his head, eyes distant. Harry tilts his head.

“You’re not telling me something.”

Louis flicks his eyes back up to Harry’s, hesitant.

“ _Tell me_ , Louis,” Harry grits out, feeling panic swell again.

“We saw It,” Louis says. “Agramon. It appeared after you passed out. It sort of…emerged from the leaves and then vanished. It wasn’t completely _whole_.”

Harry waits, blinking expectantly.

“It smiled at us,” Louis shudders. His grip on Harry’s hand tightens.

Harry takes in a deep breath. “I saw a vision of my mother, Louis. And then I saw her die.”

“Oh, Harry…”

Harry says nothing. He doesn’t want to think about it.

“I thought you were dead,” Louis says, voice solemn and broken. “Your body was so contorted, and then your face was going purple and you stopped breathing. You were foaming at the mouth and choking and you stopped breathing and I thought-“

“Lou,” Harry pulls him closer, their hands overlapping and gripping tight. “I’m okay now.”

“It tried to kill you!” Louis shouts brokenly, full of anger and hate. “It made you see your mum, made you see her die. It was trying to make you afraid, so afraid that you couldn’t breathe. That’s what happened to you Harry. You were so afraid that you stopped breathing. Zayn had to revive you.”

Harry pulls back slowly, trying to process everything. Louis’ eyes are fierce and his chest heaves. “Did It do anything to you?”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “No, Its presence was enough.”

“I wonder why it was in Weybridge,” Harry says. “We haven’t found a symbol here yet.”

“Simon has ordered for all of the other symbols to be destroyed and for the areas around them to be monitored,” Louis says. Harry frowns slightly at his diversion, but it’s forgotten quickly.

“How…” Harry starts, sitting forward. “How long was I out?”

“A few days.”

His eyes widen. The eclipse must be so close now, a few days away. “Shit. We’re not ready. We’re so not ready.”

“Harry-“

“No, Louis! We can’t kill this thing!” Harry exclaims. “We’re way out of our depth. There’s only a few days to go, and we’ve seen it _once._ If it attacks us, which I can guarantee it will, we have no way of stopping it.”

Louis doesn’t bite back at him with an argument or a remark like Harry expects him to. Instead, his knee jitters up and down, and he refuses to look Harry in the eye.

“You know something,” Harry says slowly, brows pinching together. “You _know_ something.”

“You’ll hate me,” Louis says. His voice is low and his expression is guarded, closed off. “You’ll hate me so much.”

“I could never hate you-“

“That’s a lie,” Louis mutters, looking up at Harry from under his lashes.

Harry opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s saved from a response by the doors to the infirmary opening and Simon stepping inside. Louis turns to look over his shoulder, hand going slack in Harry’s grip.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Louis says, voice gentle. “Rest up.”

He gets up, and he shares a look with Simon as he walks past that makes Harry’s stomach bubble nervously. Simon take’s Louis’ place, crossing his arms and sitting back to observe him silently. Harry squirms, and sinks down into the mattress in an attempt to hide.

“You’re lucky that Zayn took the blame for this one,” he begins. His eyes are cold, unimpressed and stony. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not in a shitload of trouble.”

Harry flicks his eyes down, clasping his hands together in his lap guiltily. “I tried to stop them, but-“

“Enough,” Simon sighs. “It’s done. There’s nothing you can do about it now.”

Harry says nothing. Guilt floods through his body. If anything, he’s glad he’s the one that was hurt.

“You’d tell me if you knew anything, wouldn’t you?” Simon asks. Harry looks up at him and nods slowly.

“Of course,” he says. “I don’t know anything else.”

Simon nods, cocking his eyebrow quickly as he leans forward. He lets out another long sigh.

“You see, Harry,” he starts. “I think you’re lying to me.”

Harry blanches. He tries not to let his face twitch. Tries to keep eye contact steadily.

“You and I both know, that there’s something more going on here,” he says, gesturing between them. “Maybe you just haven’t figured it out yet, but you know. This all seems a little familiar doesn’t it? A little connected to something that happened a while ago, yes?”

Harry makes no move to answer, looking at Simon wearily.

“You thought you tracked Moloch all the way up to the Sheffield district. But we both know that it was following _you._ It was after you, after Louis.”

Harry bristles.

“We never did find out what it really wanted though, did we?” Simon says thoughtfully, but to the point where Harry recognizes the sarcasm dripping through his voice.

“What are the connections?” Simon asks him. Again, Harry says nothing, tries to focus on breathing. Simon lurches forward. “Come on, Harry! What are the connections?”

Harry’s breath stutters in his throat. “I-. I don’t know.”

“Yes you do,” Simon grits out. “You do know.”

“Agramon and Moloch are both Greater Demons, they both went after our team, I don’t know!” Harry tries shakily.

“What do Agramon and Moloch have in common?” Simon yells. His face is turning red. “What do you think they’re really after?”

“Simon, _please_ -“

“They want his blood, Harry,” Simon says quietly. “They both need his blood.”

Harry feels his entire body freeze. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting exactly what you think I’m suggesting,” Simon says. “Louis owes one of those demons something. In this case, it seems to be his blood. Which means somewhere along the line, he’s made a deal with one of them.”

“No,” Harry says. “That isn’t possible.”

“Isn’t it?” Simon challenges. “He’s always been fast, hasn’t he? Strong and fast and able to pick up on things that you couldn’t. Why do you think he was always so willing to jump right into a fight? Why do you think he was always so confident about everything he ever did? _Was_ it impulse?”

Harry shakes his head, denial running through him.

“You can’t trust him, Harry,” Simon says. “How easy was it for Zayn to be impersonated? How do we know that Louis isn’t being controlled, if it’s really him?”

It can’t be true. He _refuses_ to believe it’s true. Harry knows Louis. He’s known him for a long time, deeply and intimately in a way Simon would never understand. He thinks back to when Louis had talked to him about his dreams, and the visions he saw of those people being murdered, his mother and his sisters, how real and heartfelt it had been. For a brief moment, Harry wonders if Louis had a father.

“Listen to me,” Simon says fiercely, taking Harry’s silence for acceptance. “If you know _anything_ , you _must_ tell me. This is bigger than protecting Louis and the rest of the Inn. There’s only such much a mask and a glamour and a shield can do to protect this country. Even if Agramon isn’t completely formed, if It attacks during the eclipse It’s still incredibly dangerous. It could summon up other Greater Demons, entire armies.”

“How are we going to fight it?” Harry whispers. “There are only seven holy blades left.”

“I’m still figuring that out,” Simon says. “Agramon was spotted here but there are no symbols. It may be that the concentration of demons outside of our district is a distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“There’s something else going on,” Simon says. He stands. “I think it’s very likely that we’ll be attacked first.”

-

Harry feels off for the rest of the day. Amelia sends him on his way with a packet of pills and a warning to drink plenty of water. She guides him into the kitchen and makes him eat, though he really doesn’t feel like stomaching anything.

No matter how hard he tries he can’t stop his mind from veering in all different directions, thinking back over every little detail he can recall from the last few years. He sits in one of the lounges for God knows how long and blinks up at the ceiling.

It doesn’t help that according to Liam, Louis hasn’t been seen since he was with Harry. He must be around somewhere, because there’s no way he’d get past Simon. But no matter how hard Harry looks, he can’t find him. His absence makes his nerves go haywire, picking apart any look or touch or word that’s passed between them.

Harry doesn’t believe it. There is no way that Louis has made a deal with a Greater Demon. If he had, Harry is sure he wouldn’t be alive right now. Those things don’t just make deals, give you what you want, fulfil your wishes, and then vanish. They need something in return. And that something is life in most cases.

But he had to admit that Simon was right about the blood. There’s no denying that both Moloch and the demon that had invaded the Inn, presumably under Agramon’s orders, were after Louis’ blood. They’d both said it themselves. _The perfect little puppet._ Harry shudders at the memory.

Moloch had said that he’d needed to deliver Louis. Where, Harry doesn’t know, and has never thought to ask.

But that night, Louis had also turned down Moloch’s offer of a deal, too.

There was a lot about that night that Harry has realized were the result of lies, of impulse and mistakes. And Louis had lied to them about Moloch. He had known it was following them the whole time.

Harry groans into his hands, rubbing them over his face as he tilts sideways to lie down against the armrest.

Niall finds him asleep like that a few hours later, and Harry is shaken awake. He rubs at his eyes as he blinks blearily, groaning as his back clicks.

“Sorry, mate,” Niall smiles down at him. “Thought you might want some dinner before it all goes.”

“Thanks,” he croaks, managing to pull himself up onto his feet.

Niall stops him with a hand on his chest before he can leave, looking sincere. “I’m really sorry. It was stupid of us to go when you told us not to. I should have listened.”

“Niall,” Harry sighs.

“No, listen,” Niall says. “Ever since we were young, you’ve been like a brother to me. And I’ve looked up to you, always. You didn’t just teach me a lot about fighting and protecting myself, but about life and respect and the importance of trust and teamwork. And I betrayed that. And I’m so sorry.”

Harry pulls him in close, quickly so that he doesn’t see the mistiness in his eyes. Niall slaps his back and digs his fingers in, body firm and familiar.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you absolute prat,” Niall pushes at his shoulder, huffing out a shuddery laugh.

“Promise,” Harry smiles, holding out his pinkie. He wiggles it cheerfully, and Niall rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a bloody loser,” Niall moans. He links his pinkie with Harry’s anyway.

Feeling slightly less like a piece of shit, Harry follows Niall down to the hall, tucking his nose into his jumper. The cold has settled over them properly now, winter barrelling into them at full force. Harry lets out a thankful breath when Liam slides a giant bowl of chilli con-carne towards him. The spices and herbs drift towards him and he can feel his nose start to run. The steam clears his head, and he lets his shoulders sink forward as he starts to eat.

Unusually, it’s quiet in the dining hall. There’s a bit of chatter, but most of the teams are generally silent, focused on their food. Harry chews his food slowly and surveys the room.

“Louis’ still not back?” He asks thoughtfully.

“Nah, haven’t seen him,” Niall shrugs. He shoves his food around his plate, making it into a mound before he dives his spoon in. “Think he was in Zayn’s room for a bit.”

Harry raises a surprised eyebrow at that. “They’re on speaking terms again?”                          

“Zayn had acted like a right tit after we got back,” Liam says. “He wouldn’t stop apologizing. Louis almost punched him in the face before Amelia gave us the all clear to go in and sit with you. I guess they’re trying to work it out.”

“That’s probably best for everyone,” Niall says. “Don’t need another soap opera in here, do we?”

“What are you saying, Niall?” Harry accuses playfully.

“Nothing, nothing,” Niall smiles, voice light.

Liam gives Harry a hesitant grin, obviously surprised at his change in mood. Harry is too, if he’s honest. It feels good though, to sit here and pretend that everything is normal. That it’s just the three of them and it’s a normal night and the moon isn’t going to cover the sun in a few days.

Harry stays and helps wash up. Liam hums underneath his breath as he scrubs viscously at one of the giant pots that’s lined with sticky chilli. Harry lets himself smile, lets himself enjoy the normality of this moment. The familiar buzzing of the old lights and the cracked tiles that they still haven’t fixed, the labels that cover every box and packet and the mismatched mugs and plates.

He’s filled with a sudden rush of both content and anxiety. He never wants to see this place gone, to see his friends gone. It’s too peaceful. Too pure.

When they’ve dried the last dishes and put them away, Liam sends him off to bed with a tight hug and a promise to talk properly tomorrow. But when Harry reaches his bedroom door, he hesitates as his hand meets the handle, nails tapping against the wood. With a curse he pushes away from the door and changes directions.

He stands out the front of Louis’ door for at least five minutes before he finally knocks. There’s no answer, so he tries again, a little louder.

“Louis?” He calls softly, opening the door just a crack.

The bedside lamp is still on. The array of books that Louis has been reading over the last few weeks are piled up awkwardly on top of each other and look ready to topple over. The bed is unmade and the sheets are tangled.

Louis is nowhere to be seen.

Harry moves forward into the room, shutting the door behind him softly and heading into the bathroom. Empty as well.

He should probably leave. This is probably really creepy.

He gets distracted, however, by the small book that’s been left open, face down among the messy sheets. Harry moves to the bed and picks it up hesitantly, flipping it over. Louis’ handwriting fills the page, and he snaps it shut instantly.

He shouldn’t look at this. He really, _really_ shouldn’t look.

_You can’t trust him, Harry._

Harry breathes in slowly, opening the book back up. Just a quick look. Just to make sure that he’s right, that Simon was wrong about this all.

Most of it is just random scribblings, some symbols and what look like old runes, drawn over and over in different ways. Harry frowns as he flicks through. Any writing is random words or phrases that Harry doesn’t understand out of context. There are a few longer entries, the first of which start about a year ago. So this was well after Leeds, then.

They don’t tell Harry much. Louis just writes of any demons he sees or kills, missions and their locations. Standard.

Harry keeps flipping, until he finds something that stirs something curious in his stomach. It takes up two pages, and he has to turn the small book vertically to read it. There are bunch of words that Harry doesn’t recognize, some in a different language, Latin it seems, all circled and joined together with lines, like some kind of mind-map.

Then a few words do start to jump out at him. _LEEDS. MOLOCH. MUM. LIAM. REDDITCH. HARRY._

And a list of places too, almost like a map. Most of them are up north. Slowly, all the connected lines merge together towards the bottom of the page. Harry’s heart starts to beat faster in his chest

_DAD. FARM. ~~FINNINGLEY~~. DONCASTER. AGRAMON.  _

“Harry.”

Harry fumbles with the book in his hands, dropping it onto the floor with a quiet thud. He spins around. He can feel a deep flush spreading up his cheeks. Fuck. He’s an idiot.

Louis stands in the doorway, barefoot and dressed in a thick knit sweater and comfy looking sweats. He closes the door behind him, eyes flicking between the book on the floor and Harry’s eyes.

“Sorry, I’ve been looking for you all day,” Harry says nervously, backing away slowly, until his back hits the bedside table. 

Louis narrows his eyes. His mouth turns down as he approaches. Harry swallows as Louis bends down to pick up the book, shutting it sharply.

“This isn’t for your eyes,” he says softly. He nudges Harry out of the way to stuff it into one of his draws.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“’s okay,” Louis says, yawning. “I was with Zayn, trying to sort our shit out.”

“Yeah. Niall mentioned,” Harry explains.

“Any particular reason you wanted to see me?” Louis muses, eyes almost cheeky.

“You said you’d see me tonight,” Harry says. “Here I am.”

Louis hums and grabs the corner of his blankets. He pulls them back and smooth them out, then he turns back to Harry.

“You staying in here tonight?”

“Please,” Harry whispers, heart clenching at the thought of spending the night alone in his room.

They curl up under the covers together, noses almost brushing. An orange blush settles over them, the bedside lamp casting murky shadows everywhere. Harry counts the soft dusting of freckles under Louis’ eyes and lets himself sink into the mattress, relaxed and on his way to drifting off.

“What did Simon say to you?” Louis says into the silence, shifting closer.

Harry hesitates. “Um. He was trying to find a connection between Moloch and Agramon.”

“Did he?”

Here, Harry feels himself stuck. If he tells Louis, he’s going to have to bring up what Simon said. But if he doesn’t Louis is left in the dark, if he doesn’t know already.

“Not really, just that they’ve both been closely linked to our team.” It’s not exactly a lie. It doesn’t feel like the right time to talk about this.

“You didn’t tell him anything about my dreams, did you?” Louis questions.

“Of course not,” Harry says. “I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll tell him myself,” Louis says softly, eyes flickering down. His lashes dust the tops of his cheeks. Harry keeps his hands still.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“I think I need to,” Louis says carefully.

“Didn’t you want to tell me something earlier?” Harry murmurs. Louis looks up at him under his lashes, eyes masked.

“No, no,” he breathes. He shakes his head and presses closer, pushing their foreheads together.

Louis kisses him hesitantly, slowly. His fingers fiddle with the drawstrings of Harry’s jumper and he shifts closer, all soft warmth and glow. Harry can feel heat zipping through him already. He rises up over Louis sluggishly, pressing him down into the mattress with meaningful kisses. Their lips slide together like honey, sweet and sticky and lush.

Harry lowers his body down gently, resting his elbows beside Louis’ head as he opens his mouth wider, breathing heavily through his nose. Louis makes a tiny sound in the back of his throat and Harry swallows it down, his tongue darting out against Louis’ lips.

“Shit,” Louis whispers as they breathe. His hands crawl up underneath Harry’s shirt and press in as Harry attaches his lips to Louis’ neck. He bites and sucks, surrounded by Louis’ smell. He shudders as Louis’ palms run smoothly down the lines of his back, fingers dipping into the waistband of his pants, pressing with warm intent

“Lou,” Harry groans into his neck, pressing his body down. Louis’ legs tighten around his hips involuntarily and pulls him close. They’re both breathing heavily. Harry pulls back slightly and moves his hands underneath Louis’ sweater, petting over the soft skin and making him squirm.

“Harry, please,” Louis whines, pressing their lips together messily. “Please.”

Harry’s heart beats heavy in his chest, eyes wide as he looks down at the boy beneath him. His hair is laid out like a messy halo, the lamplight turning the tips of his eyelashes copper.

“Are you sure?” he whispers. He runs one of his hands over Louis’ cheeks, thumb rubbing over his wet bottom lip.

“I need you,” Louis pleads. He rolls his hips up and Harry stutters forward, gasping into Louis’ mouth. “I need something real.”

“Lou,” Harry exhales as his lips drag against Louis’ skin.

“Show me this isn’t all in my head,” Louis says, digging his hands into Harry’s back.

“I will,” Harry promises. “I will if you want me to.”

“I’ve missed you so much,” Louis says. He whimpers as Harry drags his teeth along his throat. “Please, H. Please.”

“I’ve got you, love,” Harry says softly, kissing underneath his jaw. Louis relaxes into him and shifts his hips. “I’ve got you.”

The heat beneath the blankets is sweltering, and Harry pulls away to hook his finger into Louis waistband, tugging his thick pants off slowly. The blankets fall away from his hips and Harry stares down. He reaches out tentatively, letting his fingers run feather-light from his calves, behind his knees and up over his thighs. Louis lets out a shuddering whine and pulls his sweater up over his head.

Harry moves his fingers across the raised scars tantalizingly slow, stomach coiling as heat rushes through his body. Louis’ muscles are strung tight, breathe coming out high. Harry dips forward and leaves wet kisses along the marks, hoisting Louis’ legs over his shoulders as he leans down. His hands cup Louis’ soft skin, long fingers leaving shadowed indents. 

He lets his eyes slip close, breathing hot against Louis’ skin. The boy squirms as the heat fans over him, and Harry is entranced by the heady smell that radiates off him, unable to do anything but mouth and nip at the thick muscle.

Louis’ hands find his hair and Harry half loses his mind, groaning at the sharp tug and lurching toward, pressing his face against Louis’ clothed cock.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Louis gasps as Harry mouths at the fabric, and his fingers twist tightly around his curls. Harry crawls forward and strips Louis’ briefs away with little hesitation, running his tongue up the underside of his cock reverently. Louis’ hips shift up, as do his hands in Harry’s hair.

Harry moans wetly at the burn of it, mouthing messily at the base of Louis’ cock. He leans upward and takes the head into his mouth and lets Louis move his hips without restriction, lets his cock nudge at the back of his throat, welcomes it. Louis keeps pulling on his hair and pushing his head back down as he shifts his hips, and Harry begins to bob his head up and down, rise and fall, push and pull. Louis presses out desperate little sounds, cut off and whiny.

He can feel his own cock pressing against his pants, desperate to be touched, for any kind of release. Harry pulls off Louis’ cock with a wet sound, jaw stretched and lashes clumped together.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says, voice throaty. There’s a pretty flush spreading down Louis’ neck and chest, his nipples peaked and hard. Harry crawls up Louis body, trying to kick of his own pants as he moves. Louis whines when Harry grinds their cocks together. Their mouths hover over each other, not quite kissing as they bump together and drag. “Tell me.”

“Want you to fuck me,” Louis whispers as he presses his palms into the dip of Harry’s back and runs them down to his ass. A choked off sound is pulled from Harry’s throat as Louis drags him closer, his muscles relaxing and tightening all at once at the rub of Louis’ hands. Harry grinds their hips together for a moment, running one of his hands up Louis’ thigh and tugging him in close, tight and hot.

“You’re sure?” Harry checks. He sucks at Louis’ collarbone, rutting against him.

“Please fuck me,” Louis whines, yanking at Harry’s underwear to pull it down. Finally, his cock springs free, and he opens his mouth in a silent gasp when Louis’ hand wraps around it firmly.

“Okay, baby,” Harry stutters. “Okay.”

“In m’ bag,” Louis slurs as their cocks rub together, bodies completely flush and hot. Harry moves away reluctantly, pressing his lips harshly to Louis’ before his slips off the bed and starts to rummage through Louis’ bag, tugging at the zips feverishly. When he finds lube and a condom he hurries back to the bed, mesmerized by the way Louis is running his fingers over his own cock like a whisper, back arched and his mouth twitching open.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Harry murmurs as he settles himself between Louis’ legs and tugs his jumper over his head. “Missed the way you look when you’re like this. So pretty and flushed, so desperate, baby.”

“Missed your cock,” Louis croaks, and Harry slumps forward. Their tongues almost meet before their mouths do, lips frantic and passionate.

Harry separates to breathe as he slicks up his fingers, pushing Louis’ legs apart wider. He rubs his finger against Louis’ hole softly to work him up and watches as his back arches up and his fingers dig into the sheets. When he finally dips his first finger in Louis lets out a whimper, shifting his hips down.

Harry tries not to tease him, but he can’t help but take his time, let his eyes slip closed as he feels the heat of Louis’ body again. He’s tight, and he scissors his fingers slowly, stretching him wide, wide, wider, making him shiver and squirm.

“Oh, God,” Louis whines when Harry dips forward and takes one of Louis’ nipples into his mouth, pressing a third finger in and pushing them up against his prostate. “Please, please, _please._ ”

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Harry hum against his neck, rubbing his fingers against his spot. Louis chokes on his moan and tugs Harry closer.

“Please fuck me,” he sobs, grabbing Harry’s face and bringing their lips together. Harry pulls his fingers out teasingly slow and Louis whimpers against his lips.

Harry has to take a moment when he rolls the condom over his cock, red and straining from being so neglected. He lubes himself up and presses his body down against Louis’, a firm and steady weight.

Louis goes tense as soon as Harry starts pushing in, a gasp punched out of his throat. Harry can’t stop the string of swears that pour from his lips as his cock is engulfed by tight heat. He doesn’t stop cursing until his hips are cradled against Louis’ ass, cock nestled inside him.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis shifts underneath him, eyes wide and dazed. Harry leans over him on his elbows and dusts light kisses over his face.

“Alright?” He whispers, running a hand through Louis’ soft hair. He looks like an angel, flushed and glowing, all golden honey hair and silky skin.

“Move,” he says.

So Harry does.

Louis lets out these soft _uh uh uhs_ as Harry thrusts into him, rocking them together. Louis’ hands scramble against his back to dig in and pull him close. His legs wrap around him, not an inch of space between them. Harry moans long and low against his neck, throat thick and tongue heavy like lead as he gets lost in the intense heat of Louis’ body.

“Lou,” he whines, their skin slapping together as his pace quickens, hips moving sharply.

“Yeah,” Louis answers him, voice airy and woozy. “Yeah.”

Heat coils tight in his stomach and he tries to will it away, to make this last as long as he can, to make up for lost time. Louis breathes harshly in his ear, hole clenching around his cock as he thrusts in. It’s so much, too much, and Harry almost feels tears prickling in his eyes at the sensation that’s ripping through him, swallowing his heart whole.

Louis comes first, whole body seizing up and tightening around Harry’s as he moans, come shooting up onto both their stomachs. Harry keeps his pace, squeezing his eyes shut tight as Louis mouths at his jaw, gripping hard at his ass.

“That’s it,” he whispers as Harry’s body shakes, orgasm rattling his bones, hips slowing.

Louis lets out a tiny gasp when Harry pulls out, body relaxing into the mattress tiredly. Harry ties the condom off and throws it into the tiny waste bin, grabs a few tissues to wipe their stomachs, then collapses forward. Louis curls into him immediately, stroking the marks on his chest and pressing kisses into his neck. They lay in silence, touching each other’s bodies gently and intimately, leaving butterfly kisses and delicate presses of lips.

Louis starts to drift off soon enough, curled around Harry’s side with his arm thrown over his stomach. Harry stares up at the ceiling and strokes his hair. The warmth of his body slowly sinks into him like quicksand, and he too is covered in darkness as he goes under, head heavy and limbs pleasantly buzzing.

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> buckle up kids
> 
> warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, blood, minor character death

“ _Ow,_ Louis,” Harry mumbles. Louis’ knee connects with his stomach as he crawls over the top of him, sheets tangling. He lets out a sleepy chuckle and squeezes his thigh. “Do you mind?”

“Sorry,” Louis whispers. Harry blinks sleep out his eyes, trying to get them to adjust to the dark.

“What’re you doing?” he rolls onto his side to watch Louis dress.

“Need some tea,” Louis whispers.

“Now?” Harry raises an eyebrow. He reaches out to turn on the lamp, but Louis’ hand stops him.

“I’m thirsty,” he says quietly, laced with a laugh.

“What time is it?” Harry grumbles.

“Go back to sleep,” Louis says, voice hushed and lulling. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“If you’re putting in all this effort, I expect you to bring me back a cup too,” Harry says. He tugs the blanket up over his shoulders, settling back down into the pillow.

He drifts in and out of sleep while he waits for Louis to come back, body pleasantly buzzed and thrumming. It’s still pitch black outside, and Harry wonders what made Louis wake up.

Then he starts to wonder why Louis is taking so long with the tea. And then, finally, the dreaded nerves start to crawl under Harry’s skin.

He rises slowly and dresses himself, gritting his teeth against the air. The whole Inn is completely silent as he pads down the hallway on socked feet, only the occasional lamp lighting his path.

The kitchen is bathed in murky blues, casting odd shadows that look like figures. There are no lights on, and Louis’ box of tea sits neatly beside Harry’s untouched. There are no cups in the sink. The kettle is empty. Harry leans against the sink and touches his fingers to the cool steel.

He should wake Simon. That’s what he should do. That’s the right thing to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker of movement. His blood freezes in his body when he looks out the window across from him. Louis darts past, barefoot across the ground, into the thick trees.

Harry is still for a beat, before he’s sprinting down the hall to his room for his sanctium. He’s probably making enough noise that it’s going to wake some of the others up. He prays that they don’t, not just yet. Not before he tries to figure out what’s going on himself.

It’s pitch black outside, and Harry can barely make out the outlines of the trees. The cold hammers into him like a bullet, seizing up his chest as he starts across the wet grass in the same direction Louis had. He has an idea on his location. He prays that he’s wrong.

He stumbles over himself as he reaches the trees, crashing ferns and branches startling the silence of the night. Harry can’t see anything, and the wispy twigs flick into his eyes and scratch his arms, trunks and stones making him trip.

“Louis!” He calls out as he ducks under a branch with a second to spare, his eyes slowly adjusting to the shadows and shapes. The ground is slippery with wet leaves and overturned earth, and Harry struggles to navigate through it all and follow the path.

The shadow of the statue finally comes into view in the distance and Harry stops to take in a huge breath of air. Chances are Louis has already heard him coming, but he attempts to be quieter as he approaches, so he doesn’t scare him or startle him away.

When he breaks through the small clearing, he’s met with the sight of Louis, crouched among the wet dirt, digging his sanctium into the stone feverishly. It makes a horrible scraping sound, the old stone chipping away.

“Louis,” Harry says softly, mouth agape.

Louis’ head whips around, so sharply and unexpectedly that Harry flinches.

His eyes are odd and shiny under the moonlight, the blue turned dark and glowing. Harry freezes, watching as Louis stares him down like prey. He snarls, and Harry starts to back away. He trips over a tree root, sending him stumbling onto his back. This isn’t right. This isn’t him.

Louis becomes distracted by the statue quickly, snarls quietening as he goes back to his work. Harry crawls closer, trying to see what Louis is carving out. When he gets close enough, he wishes that he hadn’t. It looks similar to the symbol they saw in Redditch.

“Louis _don’t_ ,” Harry crawls towards him rapidly, pulling him away by the shoulders.

He isn’t prepared for the blade that comes his way when Louis lashes out at him, spinning in his grasp and pushing him down into the dirt. His reflexes save him for the most part, but the blade nicks him on the shoulder and he yelps in surprise. Louis looms above him, teeth bared and lips curled back into an ugly growl. He was aiming for Harry’s neck.

Harry gazes up at the blade in his hand, and his stomach feels like it’s falling. That’s the holy blade, right there in his hand.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry tries. It doesn’t work. Harry has to shove Louis’ away with all of his force before his blade slices through his throat. Louis falls into an awkward heap, but rights himself quickly and launches himself back to the statue. Harry meets him halfway, throwing him into the ground.

Louis lets out an angry, desperate sound as he tries to scramble away from Harry’s grip. Both of their movements are frantic as the scuffle in the dirt. Harry needs to try and stop him without injuring him, but with the way this is going, Louis doesn’t seem ready to give up this fight any time soon.

He can’t stop looking at how unnatural Louis’ eyes look, pupils dilated and oddly coloured, set into a vicious scowl. Harry finally gets the upper hand when Louis attempts to crawl towards the statue, hurling his body forward and away. Harry follows, and wraps his arms tightly around Louis’ neck.

Louis’ body jolts as he makes a choked off sound, struggling against Harry’s grip. Harry hoists them both up and keeps his arms locked tight around Louis’ neck as he drags him backwards. The boy in his arms kicks out and snarls like an animal, and Harry tries to keep the distressed sounds lodged in his throat from threatening to spill.

He almost trips over at least a dozen tree roots, but he manages to right himself as Louis starts to go limp in his arms, hands flailing as he tries to breathe. Finally, he pulls them out of the trees and onto the grass.

“Help!” He calls out desperately, voice straining as he tries to project his voice. “ _Help!_ ”

For a second, just a second, he loosens his grip on Louis’ limp body. It’s a second too long.

Louis manages to twist his body around, which must be incredibly painful, and kick against Harry’s stomach. The breath is knocked out of him as he falls back, gasping. Louis stands over him with a heaving chest. Harry has no intention of hurting Louis. But it seems that Louis, or whatever the fuck is inside of him, has other plans.

Harry rolls to his feet as quickly as he can manage, but Louis is already advancing towards him. His hands are brutal and aggressive when they grab him, and Harry screams for help again, trying to twist away from Louis’ overly strong grip.

“You have to let me do this,” Louis says desperately, voice all wrong and gravelled. For a moment just the briefest of moments, his eyes clear.

“No,” Harry whispers as he wrenches himself away. Louis’ head tilts down, dipping and making his face look gaunt and long. He looks up at Harry under his creased brows, and his face slowly morphs into another disturbing snarl.

“Fine,” he spits, and pulls the holy blade out sharply. Harry swallows, drawing his sanctium out too.

Light spills out across the grass behind him, and Harry turns in surprise. Simon stands in the doorway, a sanctium in his hand. Shit.

“Harry, what’s-“ he breaks off, looking behind Harry with wide eyes. Harry whips his head around. Louis is already halfway into the trees, sprinting into the dark.

A moment later, Simon’s body flashes past him.

“Simon, _don’t_!” Harry shouts after him desperately. If Simon gets to Louis first, he’ll kill him.

He doesn’t know what comes over his body when he starts chasing after him. He doesn’t know what comes over his body when he smashes through the thick foliage. He doesn’t know what comes over his mind when he charges into Simon and drags him down onto the wet dirt.

“Have you lost your _mind?_ ” Simon screams at him. He shoves Harry away and moves to stand, but Harry grabs his ankle, then his legs, then his waist. Simon tries to pry him off but Harry hangs on tight, tears clouding his vision.

“You’re going to kill him!” Harry accuses.

Simon is a big guy, has decades of fighting and experience on Harry. Yet, Harry manages to keep him down. His arms are stinging, scraped and bloodied by all of the scuffling and fighting among the dirt and rocks. Simon keeps yelling at him, cursing him, but Harry just tries to keep him down and give Louis time to run.

He hopes to God that Louis runs.

Simon manages to kick his legs free, sending dirt and grime into Harry’s face and mouth. He splutters and tries to move after him but he isn’t quick enough. When he finally catches up, Simon stands as still as the statue before him. Louis is nowhere in sight, and Harry breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Simon says quietly, not looking at Harry.

Harry swallows and makes sure he keeps good distance between them. “Simon…”

“You’ve jeopardized the entire Inn!” Simon whirls on him, spitting and face red in rage. His body is shaking. Harry backs away, heart in his mouth. “The eclipse is in two days. And now we have one of these in our district. How could you be so selfish, so fucking _blind?_ ”

Hot shame washes over Harry completely. The symbol is all joined up, completed.

“It was him, you idiot!” Simon continues to scream. “He was drawing them, all this time! I bet he’s working for It, I bet It’s using him as Its puppet!”

_Perfect little puppet._

_There are gaps in my head. I’m missing entire days._

“Even if we destroy this, the effects won’t wear off in time. Agramon could raise his entire army right here!”

“Simon, _please,_ ” Harry tries, swallowing again around his lumpy throat.

“Get out of my _sight_!” Simon roars. He points back towards the Inn, eyes almost black in the light. Harry cowers, stepping away slowly.

Simon crouches down in front of the statue, resting his hand against the stone. He’s going to have to destroy it. For some reason, the thought makes Harry so, _so_ sad. Another piece of the Inn, gone, swallowed up. Destroyed.

Simon raises his blade high, and swings it down to scratch through the symbol.

Except the symbol isn’t broken, because the second the tip of the blade makes contact with the outside of the carving, a bright, hot flash of light smashes through them. Harry flies backwards among the trees, a surprised and pained cry ripping from his throat as his body rolls and scrapes.

He heaves in shuddering breaths when the light vanishes, dazed and looking up at the sky. Scratchy coughs crawl up his throat as he turns over with a wince.

“Simon,” he says, but he doesn’t know if he’s whispering or shouting. His ears are ringing too loudly.

Harry manages to crawl back towards the statue, that still looms high and in one piece. Simon’s body is sprawled on the ground, stuck partway under the large tree trunk that must have stopped him from flying backwards like Harry had. He isn’t moving, and Harry starts to panic.

He can hear voices in the distance now, terrified and confused shouts. They must have felt it back at the Inn too, the force of whatever that was.

“Simon,” Harry coughs. He leans up onto his knees and rolls him over, the man beneath him groaning as he does so.

“What was that?” Simon rasps. He winces as he sits slowly, looking pale and sickly.

“I don’t know,” Harry says.

The symbol that’s carved deep into the stone is glowing copper, a soft humming sound radiating off it. Now that Harry can actually see it, it doesn’t look like the one he saw in Redditch. The same outline, yes, but the intricate details in the middle aren’t familiar to him.

“What did he draw?” Harry wonders, peering closer. Simon grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him away.

“Don’t go near it,” he warns. He studies the symbol for a moment, looking over the traces. “I haven’t seen this before.”

Harry squints as the symbol glows bright, bright, brighter, then fades. The night is unnaturally quiet again, save for the sounds of voices and the snap of twigs. They must be looking for him and Simon.

“No one is allowed out into the grounds,” Simon says lowly as he begins to stand. There are bruises blooming on his arms already, deep scrapes leaving trails of sticky blood. Harry’s throat tightens. He did that. He attacked him.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. Simon just shakes his head, face grave as he turns his back and pushes his way into the trees.

Harry follows slowly, his whole body feeling tied down and nauseous.

It’s as he’s manoeuvring around the fallen tree trunk that he freezes, mind spinning into overdrive as he turns slowly over his shoulder to cast his gaze back at the symbol.

It clicks then, suddenly, and images flash through his mind over and over, flickering pages and tireless scribbles, Latin words and connecting lines.

That symbol was in Louis’ book.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathes.

He knows where Louis is.

He knows what he’s going to do.

And he has to stop him.

_IGNEM CAELESTEM,_ the page had read, circled right at the bottom and connected to everything.

Heavenly fire.

-

  _Doncaster. Time and date unknown._

The rickety fence falls away to a long, long lane, reeds and overgrown bushes lining the dirt road. The house sits neatly in the centre despite its appearance, dull white with peeling paint and half the tiles on the roof close to falling off.

The land stretches out as far as the eye can see, old crops wilting away and about to give way to the new. He’ll grow peach trees, he thinks, running up and across and around the house. Plant flowers along the lane and the fence line, store everything in the rusted barn. He can fix that too, of course. Paint it bright, bright red and let the sun shine and reflect off it.

“I’m still not too sure about this, Adam,” Johannah, his wife, murmurs, leaning out the open door of their rusted truck. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun today, loose curls brushing her neck. She glows in the sunlight, and Adam smiles up at her.

“Don’t worry, love,” Adam reassures her. “We’ll have this place up and running in no time.”

“Hm,” she hums, lips curled into a teasing smile. “We’ll see, we’ll see.”

“Are you doubting my incredible farming abilities?” Adam gasps. He revs the engine and makes the truck jolt forward, sending Johannah into a fit of surprised laughter. She clambers back into her seat, hand over her heart.

“You better watch yourself,” she chides with a raised eyebrow.

The moving truck behind them honks, almost bumper to bumper with them.

“Alright, alright,” Adam huffs. He slots the car into gear and lets it rumble down the long lane. Green land lies either side of them, and he gets distracted by the flow of Johannah’s hair when she sticks her head out the window and breathes in deep.

Right now, at this moment, he couldn’t be happier.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells her. She turns slowly, pink lips turned up and the apples of her cheeks shining.

“Oh, stop it,” she coos, bright blue eyes standing stark against the fresh green behind her.

“’s true,” he shrugs. “I can’t wait to start my life with you, Jo.”

Adam pulls the truck to a stop in front of the house, handbrake clunking. Johannah leans across the glovebox and scrunches up her freckled nose. Adam pecks her on the tip, then presses another soft kiss to her plump lips.

The truck behind them honks loudly, again, and they flinch apart.

“Some people just don’t have any _patience_ ,’ she sighs, shoving the heavy door open and jumping out. Adam smiles as he watches he trudge towards the moving trucks window, yelling at the driver.

He shakes his head as he slides out of the the truck, a grin plastered onto his face and refusing to move. He cranes his neck up at their home. Excitement bubbles up in his stomach, and he rushes to the back of the moving truck to push the roller door up, eager to unload everything.

-

Over the next few days, he comes to realize, regrettably, why this place went so cheap.

It seems that every few hours he’ll find something new that doesn’t work in each room. And there are a lot of rooms.

Johannah’s screech of _Adam!_ becomes a common occurrence. First it was the icy cold water in the shower, in _all_ the showers. Then it was the broken pipe under the sink that flooded the kitchen floor. Then the lamps, the faulty electricity, that one dead mouse that Johannah found while stocking up the cupboards that sent her into a frenzy. He doesn’t even want to talk about the barn.

But it’s fine. They’ll get through. He fixes the pipe, goes into town to get an approval on the electricity and the water system. Soon they have hot water and working lights and it’s alright. Summer approaches warm and dewy, and quickly. Adam spends most of his days clearing out in the fields, coming inside for dinner with slick, red skin. Johannah constantly tells him off for it, but he just gives her a winning grin and pulls her in close.

At night they light the fire and play their dusty records, dancing around to blues and swing in their own little world. The lights are speckled and old and he needs to clean and change them, but the shadows make everything look like he’s walking through a movie, living in a dream. Johannah glows wherever she goes anyway.

He starts to hire a few people to help out around the farm, venturing into town reluctantly. It’s not like he thought he could do this on his own, he’s not stupid. It’s just, he’s a little nervous about meeting all these people who have grown their roots in this place. Johannah, of course, is nothing but lovely to them all and quickly becomes a budding socialite among the farmer’s wives and little committees in town, quickly bringing together a rag-tag group of reliable men and women to help them.

He would be lost without his girl, honestly.

Cleaning out and repainting the farm turns into a whole town ordeal. Townsfolk bring their foldout chairs and big plastic tables and lay out their bright, plastic table covers. There’s lemonade and fresh fruits and cheeses from the next town over, and Adam feels himself swelling with joy, with acceptance, and with love.

Johannah gets paint all over her clothes and cheeks and it gets smudged onto his own skin when he kisses her, summer light turning everything so bright and full and abundant. The peach trees are almost in full bloom and right now he doesn’t think about the money and the bills because this is what he’s always wanted. His dreams are real and tangible and he can reach out and grab them.

Johannah starts to paint and furnish the other rooms in the house, pastel colours and little beds and Adam knows what that means, and he couldn’t be more excited to start a family on these beautiful grounds.

The debt that they’re in doesn’t hit them until the end of the next winter. Nothing has grown properly and their fields and soil are failing them. Food is rationed and Adam feels guilt fester inside his body every night he and Johannah go to bed. She’s getting thinner and thinner and her hair isn’t soft like it used to be, and he knows this is taking a toll on her.

But they’ll get through it, like they’ve gotten through everything else.

She’d left the big city to come out here, defied her terrifying parents and indulged him completely. Now it was time for him to give back to her, to make her life fulfilled.

But that’s the thing about dreams. They’re unreliable, made up, untouchable. They’re just dreams.

“Adam, I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

It’s a Wednesday night. They’ve lit candles around their entire kitchen because their electricity has been cut off again, and won’t be back on until Saturday. Usually they would have a few more people around their table, but all their workers have left. There isn’t anything for them to work _on_.

The small, softly painted rooms down the hall remain shut tight. They were going to wait until they were more stable, until a few harvests were done. They’ve left it too late now. They can’t afford to feed any more mouths.

“I can fix it,” he says. Johannah faces away from him, leant against the kitchen sink with her arms spread wide.

“Adam,” she sighs, hanging her head. He can see her shoulder blades underneath her old sweater.

“It’s not too late to fix it,” he argues. “Just wait for summer to come around again, we’ll try something new. More fruits, maybe. We could sell jams. Maybe I’ll take a loan out for some sheep-“

“Adam!” She cuts him off, whirling around. He blinks up at her. She looks sleep worn and so tired, purple circles around her eyes. “Maybe’s aren’t good enough. We need to be realistic about this.”

“We can’t give up.”

“The land’s given up on _us_ ,” she sighs. “We need to sell.”

“No,” Adam says fiercely.

“I can’t stand it here anymore,” she moves forward, grabbing onto his wrists. “Don’t you care about me?”

“Of course I do, love,” Adam says softly. “Of course. Always.”

“This place is killing me,” Johannah says, so reluctantly. She knows how much this hurts his feelings.

“Just give me one more year, one more try,” Adam begs. “I can do it. I know I can do it.”

“You said that last year,” she pushes herself away.

“No, please, baby,” he drops to his knees, grabbing her hand. “I will do _anything_ to keep you with me, and make you happy and healthy. Please, you can’t leave. I’d die without you.”

She looks down on him, and he would hate to think that it’s with pity.

Johannah brings a hand up to his face and strokes it through his hair softly. “One more year. Then I’m done.”

“Okay,” he breathes out. “Okay. I promise, I’ll fix everything. I’ll work so hard. You won’t even recognize the place.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She retracts her hands sharply and stalks out of the room.

Adam sits there on his knees for a while. He stares at the cracked wood, and prays for a miracle.

He thinks that miracle makes itself apparent a few months later.

The folks in their town have become rather standoffish towards them. It hit Johannah hard, the way the other women would look at her, married to a fool with no children. She was stronger than them of course, and didn’t take or believe any of their bullshit. But without Johannah, Adam was lost here. It was hard to find help. So he’d drive, all through South Yorkshire and the Borough to find something, someone that could help them.

It’s late afternoon and he’s driving back through Finningley.  He’d found one man today, a seventy year old cattle worker named Jeremy, who’d agreed to come down and look at the place. It’s not much. Not much at all. But it’s better than nothing.

His truck rumbles obnoxiously down the street, in desperate need of a fix up. He winces as his brakes squeak when he takes a sharp corner. His wince deepens when his car begins to slow, the screeching sound getting louder as he jolts to a stop.

“Fucks sake!” Adam yells. He smacks his hands down onto the steering wheel, sending the horn blaring and making anyone around him within a ten metre radius jump a foot in the air. “God fucking _dammit_!”

After trying to restart the truck over and over, he gets out and slams the door behind him.

The bonnet is a piece of shit and he has to wrench the thing open. He almost drops it on his head twice. He’s cursing the whole time as he tries to find the source of the problem. Nothing is smoking and nothing looks out of place from what he can see. Just his luck. The truck is just a hunk of useless metal.

To top off his day, he feels the first few pelts of rain hit the back of his neck.

“Oh, fuck _off_!” He bellows up to the sky. The townsfolk around him scatter to shelter, watching him with their hands over their mouths in whispers as he tries to restart his car in the rain.

In the end he just gives up. Slamming the bonnet closed so hard the frame of the car shakes, he leans his hands against the hood and hangs his head. The rain soaks him entirely, long hair prickling his eyes. He’ll never admit that he cried to anyone. It was just water, from the rain. He was shaking because he was cold.

“Need a hand?”

Adam sniffs and turns, blinking against the rain. An old woman stands behind him, wearing a moth-eaten jacket with the hood turned up. Her eyes are catlike and her lips are full and deep red, wrinkles jutting out either side. Underneath her thick jacket, her clothes and flowing and loose fitted, covered in colourful patterns.

“Uh,” he stutters.

“Well, you got some tools or what, boy?” she says impatiently.

“Yeah?” he drawls, still unsure.

“Are you gonna give ‘em to me?” she raises an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna fix my truck?” he blinks slowly at her again.

“No, I’m gonna beat you over the head with a screwdriver,” she rolls her eyes. “Course I’m gonna fix it.”

Adam backs away from her slowly and round to the back of the truck, pulling out his toolbox. He lugs it back to the front of the car and drops it to the ground in a heap.

“You’ll get a bad back carrying things around like that,” she says primly. Then she twists open the box and starts pulling out various screwdrivers and wrenches, until she settles on a rather large few.

Adam squints through the rain as she lifts up the bonnet of the truck with ease, holding it open with one hand. She leans over the front of the car on her tiptoes as she reaches in, other hand flailing.

“Do you need a hand-“

“Watch yourself, boy,” she cuts him off. “You think I can’t do this on my own?”

“No, no,” Adam holds out his hands in defence. “Was jus’ wondering.”

The old woman hums skeptically, then sets back to work. Within a few minutes the truck roars and splutters back to life.

Adam lets out a hoot as it rumbles, smoke pouring out the exhaust. “Hey! You did it.”

“Well, of course I did,” the old woman smirks, shutting the bonnet with a resounding _bang_.

“Thank you,” Adam says sincerely.

“Now you just gotta make it up to me,” the old woman smiles.

“Oh,” Adam blinks, then comes back to himself. “Of course, absolutely.”

“How about you give me some dinner and a place to sleep for the night? I’m a traveller see,” she explains.

“Yeah, alright,” he gathers up his tools, trying to keep his back straight as he lifts the box. “Hop in.”

The drive back to the farm is mostly silent.

Adam flicks his eyes to the old woman curiously. She’s taken her jacket off now, and he can see all these weird markings and tattoos snaking up her arms. He hasn’t seen anyone like her around, ever. The rain settles and turns into mist, so he’s extra careful. His lights aren’t all that great either.

“Got yourself a nice place here, boy,” she comments when Adam pulls up at the front. The old woman peers out the window and looks up at the tall house.

“’s alright,” Adam says quietly. Johannah’s going to kill him when he gets inside. He was supposed to be home a while ago.

As expected, his wife’s voice floats down the hall as he’s climbing the stairs, the old woman behind him. She turns her head curiously, peeking into the rooms. It’s kind of weird, but Adam just lets it slide, ready for a warm meal and his bed.

“Adam, baby, that you?” She calls.

“Yeah, Jo,” he says, coming into the kitchen.

She’s leant over the stove, jeans up high around her waist with her shirt tucked in at the front. She’s pulled her hair up into one of those messy buns he loves so much. He can’t help himself when he pulls her in by the waist and kisses her cheek.

“Where’ve you been?” she raises an eyebrow at him. He’s still a bit damp.

“Got stuck out in Finningley. Truck broke down,” he sighs. “This nice women here, uh-“

He realizes then that he hadn’t even asked for the woman’s name.

“Lily,” she supplies, wrinkled eyes curving as she smiles.

“Lily, helped me out,” he explains. “We’ve got room for one more tonight, yeah?”

“Course,” Johannah smiles. “Have a seat, love.”

“Thank you,” Lily sits quietly. When she looks away, Johannah turns her face to Adam’s and gives him a questioning glare. Adam tries to smile reassuringly, but it sort of wavers a bit.

“Have any luck today?”

“Yeah, got an old guy coming down in a few days to take a look at the place,” Adam says. “Jeremy, his name is. Used to be a cattle farmer, good with the land.”

“There is no way we’re getting cattle,” Johannah raises her eyebrow at him.

“What, you don’t want to see me in a cowboy hat and boots?” Adam laughs.

Johannah scoffs, rolling her eyes. “No, thanks.”

“ _Yeehaw_!” Adam says with a terrible accent. Johannah just groans, pushing his face away with her hand. He can hear Lily laughing behind them.

“Go away, you’re annoying me,” Johannah laughs.

“ _Joooo_ ,” he drawls, swinging the pitch of his voice in a song. He leans in close over her shoulder.

“ _Noooo_ ,” she sings back, mimicking him and shoving him away.

“You two are a lovely couple,” Lily says. Adam looks over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says, genuinely. He likes to think they are too.

“How long have you been together?” Lily asks, clasping her hands on the table in front of her.

“Five years,” Johannah answers. “Married for two.”

“Oh, lovely,” Lily smiles. “What inspired you to buy this place?”

As expected, Johannah turns away and stirs the pot on the stove, leaving the answer to Adam.

“Well, it’s always been a big dream of mine to live out in the countryside, have a big, open space like this and work hard to make it my own,” he describes. “I convinced Jo to come with me, somehow. She’s been my rock through everything. Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

He realizes that he’s sort of gone off topic, but Johannah glances up at him by the stove, eyes misty.

“She basically convinced the whole town that I wasn’t a complete loser and got them all to help us out. I’m pretty sure she painted most of the barn on her own. And she’s always up so early every morning, collecting eggs and picking fruits. I’m telling you, she’s the boss around here, not me.”

“That’s very sweet,” Lily coos after a long moment of silence. Johannah keeps her head down, lips pulled into her mouth.

“We’re a team, Jo and I,” Adam smiles. Johannah smiles back at him reluctantly, blinking rapidly.

“Soups up,” she says quietly, digging their mismatched dish set out of the cupboard.

Dinner is relatively subdued. Lily asks a few more questions but remains quiet, blowing on her soup and batting her thickly lined eyes. Adam feels relaxed. Johannah’s ankle is hooked under his, her seat tucked in close. This might turn out to be a good night after all. They might not fight when they go off to bed.

Johannah retires to bed after dinner's finished, kissing Adam’s cheek and bidding Lily safe travels. Adam gets up and makes himself and Lily tea, the cold night starting to seep in through the old windows.

“She seems lovely,” Lily comments, once Johanna’s left.

“She is,” Adam agrees. “I love her very dearly.”

“I can tell,” she smiles warmly. “Is it just you two in this big house? Surely you’ve got some little ones about?”

Adam’s smile falters, slipping away. “Well, no, actually.”

“Oh?” Lily questions, frowning.

Adam wraps his hands around his mug. “We were going to wait a year or two, make sure that we were completely stable before we had kids. But…things on the farm went bad after the first winter. The crops stopped growing and everything just died. It’s been really hard on us, not just financially.”

Lily remains silent, and Adam doesn’t know why he’s blurting this all out to a stranger.

“She’s going to leave me, if I can’t get everything going again,” he says sadly. “She doesn’t want to have kids when we can barely feed ourselves, and I agree with her. Jo’s given up so much for me, and if I can’t fix this then it’ll have been for nothing. I can’t let her down. That’s why I was up in Finningley. Nobody around here wants to help us anymore. We’re a joke.”

Lily is quiet for a few moments. Then, she reaches slowly across the table and grabs Adam’s hand. “Maybe you’re just looking for help in the wrong places.”

Her tone has lowered significantly, and he leans away slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I think that you’re in need of real help,” Lily says. Adam frowns. “And these people can’t help you.”

“I’m pretty sure-“

“Are you a superstitious man, Adam?” Lily questions.

“Um, not particularly,” Adam tries to pull his hand away. Her grip is too tight.

“Well, what would you say if I told you that I know a way to make your farm prosper?” Lily says. “What if I told you that your crops will never fail again, and that your fruit trees will be bending over in abundance? That you’ll be able to afford cattle and sheep and live self-sufficiently?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Adam says cautiously. The wrinkles in the old woman’s forehead look like they’ve sunken in deep.

“What if I told you that your lovely Johannah would never, ever think of leaving you here, alone?” Lily says, her voice breathy and soft. “She’ll give you many children, and they’ll grow up together, happy and healthy and working alongside you.”

“R-really?” Adam leans closer, eyes wide. “You know someone that could help me? Help me get all that?”

“I do,” Lily nods. “But it’s not that easy. I can give you all the tools, but you need to find them yourself.”

“Who?” Adam asks.

Lily finally releases his hand, and he stretches it out, sore from being held tight for so long. The old woman pulls out a wad of worn paper from her pocket and unfolds it. Adam wonders how it isn’t all ruined from the rain earlier.

He leans closer, eyebrows pinching together as he looks over the unfamiliar words and scribbles on the page. It looks like it’s written in a different language.

“How is this going to help me?” Adam says. He doesn’t recognize _any_ of the words.

“With practice, you’ll be able to use this to make all of your dreams reality,” Lily tells him. _Impossible_ , he thinks briefly. 

“What do I need to do?” Adam asks eagerly.

“You see these?” Lily taps her fingers against the strange drawings. “These are ancient symbols. They can be used to summon otherworldly beings to earth. If you do it right, they’ll repay you by making you a deal, and giving you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Otherworldly?” Adam squints up at her. “What like, ghosts?”

“Not quite,” she smiles.

“So I just…draw these?” Adam blinks down at the worn pages.

“It depends on the type of being you want to summon,” she explains. “Now, for the _strongest_ beings, the ones who can give you anything, _anything_ that you ask for-“

Adam leans in close to her, listening and watching intently.

“You need to use this one.” She flicks through the pages rapidly, and pulls out a sheet. The symbol is large, and looks rather gruesome if he’s honest. He wrinkles his nose. “It needs to be big, probably stretching across an entire room without being broken. It has to be connected.”

“And what about these words?” Adam points at the script underneath.

“That’s Latin,” she explains. “You use that to call to the beings.”

“Oh,” Adam says. He doesn’t know Latin. “Does it matter if I know the meaning, or…”

“No, no, you just need to say it,” Lily says with an encouraging smile.

“So I just draw a symbol, say the magic words, and I’m sorted?” Adam questions skeptically.

“It takes practice,” Lily says. “You’ll find that it won’t work at first. Especially because you’re not… _familiar_ with this type of thing.”

“What do I have to give you in return for these?” Adam gestures to the papers in front of him. “I’ve kind of established that I don’t, um, have a lot of money.”

“A meal and a bed for tonight is all I need, dear,” she says. “The rest is all up to you.”

Adam looks down at the symbols, the strange lines and the unfamiliar words. Outside, the rain starts to patter against the windows softly, the cloud chasing them. A gentle buzzing curls in the back of his neck.

“Are you sure this will work?” He flicks his eyes back up to her.

“I can guarantee it,” she grins, feline eyes narrowing.

Later, when he curls up behind Johanna’s sleeping body, he feels a glimmer of hope unfold in his chest. He’s going to practice every day. He’s going to make his girl proud.

In the morning, Lily is gone, the bed made.

The papers sit on end of the bed and Adam snatches them up and stuffs them in his bedside draw, away from prying eyes.

-

Tonight is the night. He _knows_ it, can feel it.

It’s taken him months to practice, to produce puffs of smoke and little rumbles of sound, but he’s finally getting it. He’s finally going to save them.

“Jo!” He calls out, swinging his head out of the bedroom and projecting his voice to the kitchen. “I’m going down to the barn! Think I left my keys in there.”

Johannah’s face pops around the side of the door, brows narrowed. “Just get them in the morning, the weathers terrible out.”

“I’ll forget,” he lies, starting towards the stairs.

“Not when you get in your car and realize your keys are in the barn,” she raises her eyebrow. She puts her hands onto her hips. Oh, no.

“I’ll just be two seconds,” Adam says, already pulling himself down.

“Adam,” Johannah warns.

“Be right back!” He calls as he retreats.

She’s right, of course. The weather is absolutely horrendous, thrashing rain and wind whip around him as he steps out the door, trying to stick close to the wall as he runs towards the barn.

It’s a whole other world once he’s inside. The rain pelts against the tin roof, and everything smells earthy. He flicks on a lamp, dust floating thickly in the air, and makes towards the stairs. Stray pieces of hay litter the floor. He’d moved all the bales downstairs a while ago to make room. The roof is leaking too, he swears.

“Alright,” he says to himself. He takes in a deep breath, pulling the small knife from one pocket and the practically disintegrating paper from the other.

Adam takes his time when he draws it, digs the lines in clean and precise and smooth. He makes sure the curves are just right and that every single point connects somewhere. No gaps. He’d learnt that lesson the hard way.

When he’s done he makes sure to stand outside of it. It’s quite big, and he stands at the edge of the stairs to make sure he’s out of the way. He clears his throat and takes in a giant gulp of breath, before he starts reading.

By now, he’s got most of it from memory. Adam doesn’t really know _what_ he’s saying, but the words are familiar to him now. He’d gone into town and searched through piles and piles of books in their tiny library, looking for any words and translations. He’d found a few, things on the paper about heaven, summoning, angels. It was encouraging. Though, a lot of people labelled him as crazy now. Nobody really uses the library that often, especially not to look up Latin words.

Despite his lack of understanding, he tries to put as much passion into his voice as he can. He’s found that works best. He just thinks of Jo, and the farm prospering so much that they can expand and have cattle and go to all those massive festivals and win prizes for their fruit jam. He thinks of the many children they’ll have, how they’ve fill up the entire house with light and family and so much love. He thinks of how desperately he wants to succeed, for Jo even more than himself. He thinks of-

Adam is knocked off his feet as the ground quakes beneath him, dark, gluggy smoke rising from the lines in the floor. He blinks wildly as he sits up, mouth agape. The shadows starts curling together, a weird smell that he can’t place filling up the entire room. Standing on shaky legs, he swears that for a split second, he sees Jo’s parents among the smoke.

But then he blinks and the fear is gone, instead replaced with a rather loud, uncomfortable buzz.

“Oh,” he breathes as he cranes his neck. “Oh my.”

The thing in front of spins into a mass that isn’t quite solid. It looks like its missing pieces, sort of just floating around in the space. Adam sighs internally. He’s probably just conjured up more smoke again.

Dejectedly, the leans down to scratch out one of the lines.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Not after all the hard work you’ve put in.”

Adam freezes, blood turning icy as he slowly lifts his head. His knife clatters to the floor. Two beady, red eyes look down at him from the smoke, the shadows of a giant figure lost among it. It’s dark, and the buzzing that is picking at Adam’s brain become almost unbearable. The things voice sounds like it’s layered over the top of itself, deep and menacing.

Adam gulps.

“Um,” he starts shakily. “I was told that you could help me, if I-. If I summoned you?”

The things eyes blink at him and it leans in closer. Adam grimaces and pulls away, fear coursing through him.

“I don’t really know how this works, um,” his voice is so unsure, so clogged up.

“You seek my help?” The thing asks.

“Yes. Yes!” Adam says desperately. “I really, really do. Yes.”

The thing hums, seeming to consider its options. Adam doesn’t really know what to do. “You’ve done well, pulling me back down to this God awful place so soon. I thought I wouldn’t be seeing this world again for quite some time.”

“Uh,” Adam says.

“I’m sure you can see I’m not entirely myself,” the things says. Adam doesn’t say anything. “There are still bits of me floating around between worlds. It’s an effort to put myself back together.”

Adam swallows. “I’m…I’m sorry?”

The smoke is starting to curl around him, blurring his vision. It has an off smell and he tries not to wrinkle his nose.

“You’ve summoned Agramon, boy,” the things says. “Demon of fear.”

Adam feels his heart stutter in his chest. “Demon?”

“Does that offend you?” It’s voice bellows suddenly, beady eyes gliding forward swiftly.

“No, no,” Adam amends. “Not at all. I’m just surprised.”

“What, were you expecting someone else?” It spits. “You summoned _me_.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Adam shakes. “Um. Agramon, I ask for your help. My farm is failing me and I’m about to lose everything I love. I’ve tried everything, and I think you’re the only one that can help me now.”

It hums again, and Adam can start to make out features here and there, the deep set of brows and Its giant mouth.

“What’s your name?” It asks.

“Adam.”

“And how many children do you have, Adam?” Agramon asks, curling closer.

Adam hangs his head. “None,” he whispers.

“Hm,” the demon hums, and Adam feels his heart sink in his chest.

“I would have, but. We don’t have enough money. My wife, Jo, she’s going to leave me.”

The demon is silent for a moment, before it exhales a wad of black spoke as it replies. Adam’s eyes water as it surrounds his face.

“You want your farm to be prosperous, Adam?” Agramon questions. Adam nods. “You want to have many children, to be wealthy, and to be loved dearly by your wife?”

“Yes,” Adam says.

“You would do anything, give anything to have your dreams become reality?” Its face is so close, eyes narrowed and dark brows raised in question.

“ _Anything_ ,” Adam says desperately, pleadingly.

Agramon seems to consider him for a moment, before It pulls away, making itself tall.

“I will give life to your farm,” It says, looking down on him with a smile. “If you give life to me.”

Adam blinks up at the demon. “I’ll do anything,” he says blindly.

“You see, Adam,” It begins. “Now that you’ve brought me back to Earth, I’m slowly remembering how much I like being around humans. How much _fun_ they are.”

It exhales another gust of hazy smoke, and Adam coughs slightly, whipping at his wet eyes. Its grin is huge, looming over him.

“And now, I’m getting all these brilliant ideas,” It muses. “Adam, poor Adam, I need someplace to hide. I need someplace to lock a bit of my form away, here on Earth, while the rest of me repairs. If I don’t, I may not be able to come back. That would be sad, would it not?”

“Very sad,” Adam agrees, moving forward unconsciously.

“Now, Adam,” the demon says, swirling right up close. “Do you accept my deal? Will you give me life, if I put it into your land?”

“I will,” Adam promises. “I accept your deal.”

The demon grins, and It reminds Adam of the cat from Alice in Wonderland, except Its eyes are red and It’s toothy grin is sharp and wicked. All of the sudden, Adam’s arms shoot out in front of him on their own accord, and the demon comes closer.

“What are you doing?” Adam gasps, his arms tingling as the smoke wraps around them. He cries out when the demon runs its teeth along his hands, blood trickling out rapidly. “Stop, that hurts!”

“You see, Adam,” the demon says, sucking the blood out of his hands. “Your wife is going to give birth to a lovely young boy. A strong boy. Stronger than the rest, with special gifts. And you’re going to give them to him.”

Adam realizes then that the demon isn’t sucking his blood out. It’s feeding Itself _in_.

“Now, you can’t carry this substance around in you for too long, or you’ll die,” Agramon says, almost conversationally. Adam lets out a choked off gasp, the veins in his arms turning black. “So you’re going to give it to your son. And then, when I’m ready, he will let me back onto this planet, and I will be able to stay here and play with the humans. And I will take what is mine out of him, so I am whole.”

Finally, the thing releases Its grip, and Adam falls onto his hands and knees, gasping. The shadows start to retract, swirling together compact and tight.

“He won’t die, will he?” Adam asks, lifting his head as his chest heaves. “My son? He won’t die when you have to take this out of him?”

“Oh, poor Adam,” Agramon breathes softly, shrinking away into the floor. “Of _course_ not.”

It’s completely silent after, and the buzzing in his head is replaced by the ringing in his ears. He stays there, on the floor, for God knows how long. It feels like hours.

“Adam.”

He freezes, clenching his eyes shut.

“Sorry, Jo,” he says, starting to stand. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Was feeling a bit light headed I guess.”

“I know what you did.”

Adam turns slowly. Jo stands on the stairs, eyes full of tears.

“What are you-“

“I heard you talking to that woman!” she yells. “I didn’t think you’d actually take those things from her. But you did, didn’t you? That’s why you’ve been disappearing up here, haven’t you?”

She’s crying now, hacking sobs.

“Jo, please let me explain-“

“Here’s your fucking keys!” she sniffs, throwing them onto the floor. “They were in our bedroom. You can use them tomorrow to drive away from here for a few days.”

“ _Jo_!” Adam tries. She shakes her head.

“I don’t know what this is,” she cries. She steps up onto the landing, gesturing to the curved lines. “But I know that it isn’t right. This is…it’s dangerous. It’s not _normal_.”

“Everything is going to be better now,” Adam pleads. He moves towards her but Johannah holds out her hands.

“Do _not_ come near me!” she screams. “I swear to God, Adam, don’t you dare touch me.”

“I did it for us!” he shouts. “The farm, it’s going to be good again!”

She shakes her head miserably. “But it won’t be real. Whatever that _thing_ was, Adam, it isn’t going to make it last.”

“Baby, listen-“

“ _Don’t._ ”

“Jo, just breathe. We both need to breathe, okay?” he says slowly. Her chest is heaving hysterically, eyes flickering all over the floor at the markings.

Adam approaches her slowly, finally wrapping her up in a tight hug.

“It’s going to come back for us, I just know it,” she sobs.

“No it won’t,” he whispers, running his hands through her hair. “It promised me.”

-

It doesn’t come back.

But what does come, is fruit, and grains, and crops, and _life_.

Spring opens with blossoming lavender and honey and everything smells fresh and clean, like new.

It isn’t long before the peaches come out again, so plump and juicy and fresh that Adam picks one every day as he drives out the gates and munches it on his way into to town. He has to mow the lawns _all the time_ , because it grows so fast. He doesn’t mind all the extra work. He craves it, really. There’s nothing better than waking up early every morning, his muscles still a little achy from the day before, and getting stuck right into work.

Nobody in the town can believe it, and Adam lives for the way that they all come slowly crawling back, questioning him over and over. _How did you do it? What’s your secret?_ He just smiles and tells them, persistence and practice. That’s all you need.

Johannah’s bump is showing by the end of spring, and Adam can’t stop touching it, rubbing her belly lovingly and talking to the little person inside. She absolutely glows, looks so healthy and radiant and full of life. Every spare moment he has, he’s looking at her, telling her how much he loves her, how beautiful she is. Because she deserves to know. No matter how many times she rolls her eyes when he says it.

He feels like the years don’t age them at all. They have their first little boy, Louis, with Johannah’s eyes and a wisp of soft brown hair. He’s the most delicate and beautiful thing, and he sends a silent thank you to Agramon, wherever It is. He doesn’t think about It often, but holding this baby, _his_ baby, his little Louis in his hands, he knows that it wouldn’t have happened without Its help.

The delight of Louis’ birth follows with two little girls, twins with a shock of blonde hair and tiny faces, three years later. Louis is a bright little boy, already eager to talk and explore, even if his mouth doesn’t connect with the words in his head properly just quite yet. Jo names their darling girls Daisy and Phoebe, and Adam almost cries when Louis tells him that he loves them, starts trying to use the word _sister_ properly and talk to them animatedly.

Johannah is almost a celebrity here and in the surrounding towns. She makes the best jams, out of the best fruits, and they pack up their kids and go to the festivals and markets every weekend, a family event. They pay off their bills, have hot water and electricity all the time, and paint more rooms in the house, for all the little ones still to come.

Life doesn’t stop for them. It’s in full swing and full force and Adam still can’t believe it, when he looks out the window in the afternoon and the sun sets over the lawn, his beautiful children and wife playing in the grass. It’s perfect. It’s a dream come to life. And it’s his.

There’s this quote he read once, about dreams, in the library that he frequently visits now without the harsh stares and judgemental whispers. He can’t recall who it was by. But it was about dreams. And how dreams were promised to come true. And that nightmares, too, were dreams.

It happens when Louis is ten, Daisy and Phoebe six.

They play hide and seek in the house a lot, sometimes Adam and Johannah join in too. It’s a big house, with lots of little nooks. They’ve recently agreed to count the barn as ‘inside’, seeing as outside is always off limits. The kids are old enough now, and Adam knows that Louis would always take good care of his sisters. He adores them completely.

Louis is quite a small boy, shorter than the rest of the boys in his class. He always get grumpy about it when anybody mentions it, pulls this adorable pouty face and stomps his feet. Despite his size, he’s a quick and nimble little thing, always climbing and running and jumping about, talking not stop and buzzing with energy. It’s exhausting in the best of ways. He’s a smart cookie too, picks up on things the other kids don’t and always asks questions, why, how, what.

He reminds Adam of Johannah. They have similar faces, the same eyes and the same soft hair. Every time he looks at him, he sees her. The same with Daisy and Phoebe, who’ve got her eyes too, though his hair and face has carried on more to them. They’re the sweetest little things.

And they’re all very, very good at hide and seek.

“Okay, I’m coming!” Adam calls. He hears a few poorly muffled giggle from downstairs, and can’t help the smile that spreads on his face. He also hears another from the kitchen.

He stomps his feet loudly as he makes his way down the hall, pretending to be a giant looking for his dinner.

When he jumps into the kitchen, Johannah is sitting at the table, reading the paper and giving him an amused look over her cup of tea.

“Seen any little monsters running around?” He grins.

“Nope,” she pops the p, eyes scrunching up in the corners.

“Hm,” he hums, stroking his chin. “Really?”

“Yep, no little monsters in here,” she says casually. There’s a tiny giggle from under the table.

Adam sneaks into the room quietly, then lets out a loud roar as he folds back the table cover. Daisy screams and grabs onto her mother’s legs. Her scream turns into a giggly squeal when Adam starts to tickle her and pull her out.

“ _Aha_! I’ve got one!” He laughs evilly. “Yum!”

“Daddy, stop!” Daisy yells, laughter peeling out of her brightly. “Mum, help me!”

“Sorry, love,” Johannah says. “It’s my tea time.”

“Can I have another go _, please_ ,” Daisy whines, pouting and blinking up at him.

“Oh, alright,” he sighs and lets her go. She squeals in delight as she stomps down the stairs, chatting noisily when she supposedly finds the other two. They shush her, and Adam hears the front door open and close.

“Off you go then,” Johannah smiles up at him.

“We need to swap out soon, I’m getting tired,” Adam grins, leaning down to peck her lips.

“Hm,” she hums. “No.”

Their laughter is broken by a piercing scream. It comes in through the window, and then another, and they both look at each other before they’re rushing from the room towards the barn.

Adam starts to panic when he hears not only the girls screaming but Louis too, calling out for him.

“Kids?” Jo yells as she pushes the barn door open. Adam follows close behind. They’re all up on the landing, huddled together.

Louis is standing in front of his sisters, but is still cowered away. “Dad, make it go away!”

Adam follows his eyes. There’s nothing there.

Adam and Johannah hurry up the stairs to their children, engulfing them in a tight hug.

“What’s wrong? Hey, hey,” Jo says, brushing the tears away from Phoebe’s cheeks.

“There’s a monster over there,” she whispers, whole body shaking.

“There’s nothing there, love,” Adam assures her, looking over his shoulder.

“Dad, I saw it!” Louis exclaims. “It was chasing us, I told it to go away.”

“Well, look, you’ve scared it off,” Johannah says. “That was very brave.”

“I didn’t scare it off,” Louis argues, but Jo silences him.

“Inside, all of you,” she stands. “No more playing in the barn.”

“ _Mum_ ,” Louis groans, shoulders slumping.

“Listen to your mother, Lou,” Adam raises an eyebrow at him. Louis sighs and nods glumly.

Adam starts down the stairs, shaking his head. They’ve got such wild imaginations his kids. Too wild, sometimes it seems.

“Adam,” Jo says. He stops, brow furrowing at the tone of her voice.

When he glances up at the landing, his stomach twists up entirely.

His wife and kids are frozen at the first step, eyes blinking slowly.

“Adam, I can’t move,” Jo whispers.

“Daddy?” Daisy tries to reach out for him.

They’re all flung backwards, and Adam stumbles up the steps. When he tries to step onto the landing, he finds that there’s some kind of invisible wall stopping him.

“Jo!” He calls out, eyes filling with tears as she tries to stand.

“Oh, _my_ , what a lovely little family, Adam.”

It slinks up from the ground, slowly, tantalizingly slow, and Adam screams at the sight of it. There’s nowhere near as much smoke as there was last time, just a giant, tightly bound figure that doesn’t look real. Daisy and Phoebe are screaming, kicking out their legs and trying to crawl away.

“What are you doing!?” Adam screams, banging against thin air.

“It’s time for my payment, Adam,” Agramon says. “Did you think this was all just for nothing? We made a deal.”

“No, _no_!” Adam roars as it drifts closer to his family. “You said that nobody would get hurt! You promised me!”

“Oh, Adam,” It chuckles. “I’m a _demon_. I don’t make promises.”

“Bastard!” Adam snarls. “You fucking bastard!” 

“Now, I just need one last piece,” the things drawls, floating closer, Its beady eyes boring into his boy. “I’ve felt your energy, little one. It’s kept me tied so _close_.”

“Don’t touch him!” Adam screams again, trying desperately to kick through whatever this wall is.

“Dad?” Louis cries out, so confused and small. “Dad, help!”

“It’s a shame you wasted your blood on more children,” Agramon sighs. “But it’s no matter. I only need the boy’s anyway.”

It’s too early, it’s too early. This isn’t supposed to happen.

“Adam!” Johannah cries out to him, pushing her children behind her as the thing slinks closer, like It’s searching for Its prey.

“Jo! It’s alright,” he tries to tell her desperately. “It’ll be alright! Just, just wait! I’ll get you out!”

Agramon laughs again, shaking Its head and casting a sinister look in his direction. “Oh, Adam. You really are so naïve, aren’t you?”

It pounces.

No sound comes out of his mouth when he screams next, and he has to look away. He cannot look, but the sounds still reach his ears, no matter how hard he cups his hands down he can still hear it. He doubles over, vomiting as the strong metallic scent floods his nose.

He can still hear Louis crying, calling out to him.

“You thought you were so clever,” the demon spits, and it sounds wet. Adam’s stomach lurches again. “I’ll make you watch this. I’ll make you see what you’ve done. You thought you were so _clever_.”

“Dad,” Louis sobs, hacking, awful sobs. “Daddy, please help me. I don’t wanna die, _please_. _Dad._ ”

“And then I’ll kill you too,” It laughs menacingly. “I’ll wipe this entire farm of life!”

This is all of his greatest fears coming true, and he can barely see anything through his tears. Guilt consumes him whole, and he lets out a tortured scream as his head is twisted around against his will, his eyelids peeled open.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he cries, trying to roll his eyes back into his own head so he doesn’t have to see.

“You don’t even realize how important you are, do you, little boy?” Agramon taunts, leaning over Louis with a distorted grin.

Louis tries to get away, curling in on himself as he screams for It to leave him alone. Adams prays, tries to pray for anything to save his boy, to save what’s left of their family. Agramon glances towards him, still smiling.

“You fool,” It smiles. “You’re a fool.”

He prays and prays and prays, to any God or angel that might be watching them.

It happens in slow motion, when the demon attacks his boy.

The terror on Louis’ face is seared into his brain first. Then the blinding, hot light that bursts out of him when Agramon tries to sink his teeth in comes next. Adam is knocked backward, body slumping and bones cracking as he jolts down the stairs. When he comes to a stop there are dark spots in his vision and his skin is sizzling, burning flesh and blood invading his senses.

He can’t move, and his head feels sluggish. There’s this odd, screeching sound coming from above him, but he can’t breathe and everything feels like it’s in slow motion. His body is numb.

“You _witch_ ,” the demonic voice cries, garbled and screaming. “What did you do to me?”

“Louis,” Adam wheezes, blacking out for a moment.

He can see smoke rising from the top of the landing, thick and ugly. “I’ll be back for you! That trick doesn’t work twice!”

Adam’s vision starts to leave him, the slow pounding in his head fading away as he struggles to breathe with his punctured lungs. The smoke keeps billowing upward, and he can see the lick of the flames crawling over the landing, hot sparks falling down onto the hay beneath. Bright orange starts to blend into the darkness and he can feel the heat melting into his already burnt skin.

In those last few moments, he tries to take himself away. He thinks of his family’s faces, the summer sun and the way it radiates off them. The way he wanted them to be happy, always. Safe and with full bellies and a life to love and look forward to.

He thinks of his mistakes. Those are all down chance though, really. The what ifs, the maybes. What if he’d never married Johannah and taken her away from the city, maybe she’d still be alive. What if he’d never bought this farm, maybe he and his family would be safe. What if he’d never tried to make things work in the wrong way, maybe his body wouldn’t be a broken and burned mess.

He thinks of his dreams. His lost, hopeless, stupid dreams.

He prays, and hopes that the fire takes him soon, so he can be with his family again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaah we're so close to the end now! if you're still reading, i hope you're enjoying!!

Louis is pulled out of his mind by a tap to his shoulder and a curious, wrinkled face, looking at him suspiciously.

“This the place you were looking for, kid?” The old man rasps.

Louis looks out across the lane, overrun with weeds and brown, lifeless grass. The house stands in the very centre, half of it burnt out, the other half rusted and smudged with grime.

He swallows. “Yeah. This is the place.”

“Not many people come down here,” the man says. Louis can see the way he looks him up and down, at his bare feet and his ratty pants. “Some folks say it’s cursed.”

“Do they now,” Louis hums, not really listening. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, trying to bring back anything. But it all just smells like dirt and dry grass.

“They reckon a witch lived in there,” the man speculates, eyes wide. “Reckon she sacrificed her husband or kids or somethin’, or had some magic powers. I’ve heard some stories ‘bout how good everything grew.”

“Fascinating,” Louis mutters.

The man looks him up and down scrutinisingly, chewing on his dry, cracked lip. “What’d you say you were doin’ up this way, again?”

“I’m in real estate,” Louis says.

“Right,” the man drawls, staring down at Louis’ feet. “Well, you have fun. I’ll be on my way.”

Louis doesn’t respond. He waits for the car to putter down the road and out of sight before he lets out another long breath, and walks slowly through the gates.

He can hear echoed laughter and tinkling bells, tires flicking up little rocks. The grumble of an engine. Shovels digging into the soft soil, seeds being dropped in, the brush of leaves and the creak of heavy branches.

But he knows that all he really hears is silence, and he’s trying to occupy his mind. It seems longer than he remembers, the walk down to the house. When he was little, he supposes he used to run everywhere.

He thinks about going in, seeing if everything is just how he’d left it, but Louis draws himself away and towards the barn instead, heart beginning to beat harder in his chest. He can hear different sounds now, crackling and popping and roaring.

The structure looks like it’s about to fall apart, never refurbished or rebuilt after the fire. The old doors make the most dreadful creaking sound when he swings them open, blinking up and around at the space. It’s so familiar now, the more he looks. Except here, in real life, everything is black and charred and all of the hay and ropes and tools have been burnt away.

The air is musty and rank, darkness shrouding everything. Louis pauses at the bottom of the stairs and runs his eyes slowly from the top to the bottom, over the same path his father would have taken. It makes his stomach curl unpleasantly in his stomach, thinking about how the fire had leapt over the landing and onto him, and he could do nothing about it.

Stepping onto the landing itself makes him feel physically ill. Though most of it is charred, he can still make out a few scrapes and curves on the floor. The blood has been burnt away, but the memory attacks Louis’ brain again, and the smell lingers behind him as he walk into the centre of the room, turning slowly, faint screams and shouts bouncing around the walls.

Taking in a deep breath, he pulls the holy blade from his belt, and stabs the point into the centre of the old floor.

Praying it doesn’t collapse underneath him, Louis draws.

He makes sure to take his time with it, focusing on every single intricate detail, every line and curve and subtle shape. He’s practiced this over and over but never with a symbol this size, and never with the intention of actually putting it to use. He only gets one shot at this. If he does anything wrong, there’s a possibility his entire body will simply combust, or he’ll die instantly. He could die anyway. This could all be for nothing.

But if he doesn’t do this, there’s no chance they’ll win at all.

When he connects the last lines together, he stands slowly, taking a moment to compose himself, close his eyes, and let his tongue relax.

Louis speaks.

He starts quiet, softly murmuring respectfully. When the symbol starts to glow he allows himself to become louder, slower and slower. Eventually he begins to shout passionately, the humming around him causing the wood and rafters to rattle, white light shoots in beams out of the intricate drawing.

There’s so much energy in the room that Louis falls to his knees. The fact that the energy conflicts his own makes him feel weak too, and he tries not to let his voice waver, to keep himself strong.

His voice is becoming ragged and broken as he tries to keep his pace, making sure not to miss anything. It’s being torn out of him, and he can feel his heart pressing up against his ribcage. _Please,_ his mind screams, _please work._

The humming intensifies, pulsing and palpable in Louis’ brain. The white light grows brighter and brighter until he’s blinded, bending and curling together sharply.

Finally, it subdues itself, and Louis blinks up with streaming eyes at the tall, immaculate figure that looms high above him.

He bows his head instantly, lowering himself closer to the ground and resting between the diamond he makes with his thumb and fingers.

“ _Puer.”_

The angel’s voice booms, and Louis clenches his eyes shut again it, against the almost unbearable humming that’s scratching and trembling against his ears.

“Vos quaeritis morte, per suscitatio angeli.”

“Sanctam Raziel,” Louis speaks clearly, but keeps his voice soft. “Veni petere auxilium.”

Raziel forces Louis’ head up, and the angel leans in close. His brows are firmly set over strong, symmetric eyes, the cupid’s bow of his lip dipping. His body is strong, completely smooth and glowing white, wrapped in silky fabric.

“Sanguis tuus scandalum es mihi,” Raziel spits, wrinkling his nose up and pulling away swiftly, dropping Louis’ head carelessly.

Louis blinks calmly, lowering himself again but keeping eye contact. “Ego conveniunt.”

Raziel raises an eyebrow and comes closer again. White, shimmering, wispy air flutts and curling around him softly like a cloud.

Hopeful, Louis admits, “Utinam usque emudent eam.”

Raziel makes an amused sound. “O? Quid vultis ut faciam?”

Louis dips his head, closing his eyes. “Will you allow me to speak in English?”

This won’t be easy. There’s only the slightest chance that this will work, and if it doesn’t, Raziel will kill him. If He doesn’t kill him anyway. Louis can see the way that the angel looks down on him, on the darkness trapped inside his body.

Raziel observes him curiously for a moment, before he nods.

“Holy Raziel, I beg you, I _beg_ you,” Louis starts desperately, leaning back onto his haunches and spreading his arms wide, “to control me, watch over me, and bless my soul.”

Raziel dips His face close, expecting Louis with scrutiny. He urges Louis to go on with another nod of his head.

“Fill me with the heavenly fire, and let it devour me,” Louis swallows.

Raziel blinks in surprise, sceptical. “You seek the fire of heaven?”

“I do,” Louis nods vigorously, hope uncurling inside him. “Burn out the curse that taints my blood.”

Raziel hums, His bright eyes flickering. He reaches his hand out and Louis lets out a surprised gasp when the angel grazes His finger along his forehead. Louis’ body jolts as thousands of images flicker in front of his vision, years of his life. He feels electricity zip through his entire body, is aware of every hair and every goosebump rising. Raziel retracts His hand slowly, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You may not live,” He warns. Louis’ heart leaps into his throat. This might work. This might just work.

“I sacrifice my body,” Louis says eagerly. He bows again, spreading his palms wide. He looks up at the angel, tears burning in his eyes. “ _Please._ ”

Raziel looks down at him over his nose, blank faced.

“Help me save them!” Louis cries. “I have to destroy It!”

The light curls around him, mist clouding his vision as the angel reaches out.

Louis’ scream is silent when Raziel’s giant hands press firmly against his skull. Light shoots out of his mouth with searing heat as he floats.

-

“So you just let him go?”

“I didn’t want him to get hurt!”

“You are such a fucking hypocrite! You got angry at us for taking those maps, then you literally go and just tackle Simon down into the dirt! Fuck you, Harry.”

“I thought you would care more about what happens to him.”

“Oh, I do. I do care about _him._ Just not that _thing_ that’s inside him. Though you have no problems with it festering in his body, do you?”

“ _Boys,_ ” Simon yells.

Harry lets out a long breathe, stepping out of Zayn’s space. Zayn’s eyes are murderous, fiery. They both scowl, look away, and put distance between their tense bodies.

They’re gathered in Simon’s office. The whole Inn was rattled by the blast that shot out from the symbol, and there are books and frames scattered across the room. The whole building had been the same, objects flung and shaken from their posts. Liam and Niall are absent, gathered with the rest of the teams in the kitchen and going over what’s just happened. What’s going to happen now.

“Louis’ whereabouts are not our biggest concern at the moment,” Simon says. His arms are bandaged up, his wounds cleaned and treated. Harry looks similar. His body is plagued in grazes. “What is worrying me is that he took the holy blade with him. Without that, our chances of holding Agramon off aren’t strong.”

Harry tries to keep his face calm. The only reason holy blades could kill Greater Demons was because they were infused so greatly with heavenly fire. All of their sanctiums were blessed with it too, but not to the same magnitude that the holy blades were. And Louis has taken it on his search for that very substance.

“That symbol out there has some kind of protective shield around it,” Simon continues gravely. “If we can’t destroy it, and it’s there for a purpose, I feel that Agramon may be focusing its attention on this district.”

“Did you figure out what it was?” Zayn asks.

“No,” Simon shakes his head. “But it’s incredibly powerful.”

“I think it’s related to heavenly fire,” Harry says quietly.

Both Simon and Zayn turn their heads to look at him.

“You think a symbol that a demon possessing Louis drew is related to heavenly fire,” Simon says flatly. “Harry, I know you have faith in him, but-“

“No, listen,” Harry interrupts, backing away. “I’ll be back, just-. Give me a second.”

When he returns with Louis’ book, Zayn looks at him wearily. “Why do you have that?”

Harry ignores him, flipping through the diary entries to the pages of drawings. When he finds them, he lays the books out flat on Simon’s desk.

“ _There_ ,” he breathes, pointing at the symbol. “That’s it, isn’t it? Louis has been drawing it, over and over, for God knows how long.”

Simon says nothing. He blinks down at the page, brows furrowed.

“And, this,” Harry continues, flipping to the mind-map, to all the squashed writing and connected lines. “Look, at the very bottom. _Ignem caelestem._ That’s heavenly fire, isn’t it?”

Simon trails his finger down the page, running over the words and places.

“That’s right,” Zayn murmurs as he peers closer. “I had no idea he was doing all this.”

“Look, I know that the things that have been happening to him seemed off, but…” Harry pulls his lips into his mouth. “Between the possession and the dreams and visions, he’s been looking for something, for this, and how to use it. And I think that he’s figured it out.”

“Heavenly fire is extremely powerful,” Simon says. “The substance itself can’t be wielded by humans. That’s why we use blades, formed centuries ago. And even if a person _could_ use it, they wouldn’t be able to contain it. It would burn through them completely.”

“Do you think it could be connected to the symbol?” Harry asks.

Simon is silent for a moment, before his face becomes stony. “No. If Louis is working for Agramon, he wouldn’t be drawing symbols that relate to heavenly fire.”

Harry grits his teeth, snapping the book closed. “I wouldn’t be so sure, maybe we should head after him.”

“ _No_ ,” Simon says fiercely. “We are all to stay here. The eclipse is tomorrow. Nobody is leaving unless they are given a mission or post for tomorrow.”

“But if you just let me-“

“You are in _no place_ to negotiate anything with me,” Simon growls. “Go. I need to get word out to the other Inn’s immediately, to Sheffield especially. They’ll need a team patrolling Doncaster.”

Harry’s hackles flare. “Don’t.”

“I’m bringing him in, Harry,” Simon raises a challenging eyebrow. “We don’t have time to go after him.”

Zayn practically drags him from the room. They stumble through the corridor and out into the night, the air still slightly humming around them from the aftershocks. It’s incredibly dark despite the full moon, the exterior light doing little to brighten anything as they become shrouded together against the bricks.

Eyes livid, Zayn pushes Harry into the wall roughly. “Why did you give away his location?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Harry spits, shrugging the other boy off. “I’m just trying to convince him that Louis isn’t working for Agramon. I want to _help_ him.”

Zayn lets out a frustrated huff. “He never showed me what was in that book.”

“Read it,” Harry holds it out to him. “I think he went back to Doncaster. There’s obviously some connection between that and his history with Agramon. But…the heavenly fire…”

Zayn traces over the connected lines slowly, eyes flicking all over the paper. “’ _Dad’,_ ” he reads. “Louis never said anything about having a dad.”

“He didn’t even know he had a mother, until he was possessed in Redditch,” Harry explains. “Then he started seeing visions. He never told me, explicitly what they were about or what they meant. But I think that they were memories.”

“What, you think his memory was wiped out?” Zayn says.

“Something like that. Look, all I know is that he thought that he never knew his family, but he never talked about life before he came into the Inn,” Harry explains. “After the attack at Redditch, he told me that he was seeing things that felt familiar to him. In that book, there are connections between Agramon and his family to our missions. The possession must have triggered something in his brain.”

“But if it triggered a link between himself and Agramon, for whatever reason, why would he be looking for heavenly fire?” Zayn frowns down at the paper in front of him.

“I think he’s trying to fight it,” Harry breathes. “From the inside.”

Zayn looks up at him sharply. “Inside?”

“His blood,” Harry says quietly. “Simon thinks he might have made a deal with one of them.”

Zayn takes a moment to process everything, realization slowly crawling onto his features. He lets out a long, watery eyed breath. “He’s the connection, isn’t he? That ‘fragment’, or whatever Simon was calling it.”

“I think so,” Harry whispers.

“The heavenly fire will kill him,” Zayn sniffs. “It’ll burn him straight through.”

“That’s why I have to go after him,” Harry says desperately. “I need to find him before it’s too late. I won’t let him just….just _burn_ himself away. We can solve this.”

Zayn nods, mouth pulled tight. “You go.”

“Zayn-“

“No. I’m more useful here,” Zayn says. He holds the book out to Harry. “Go. I won’t tell anyone, just Liam and Niall.”

“I’m not sure-“

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Zayn sighs, pulling Harry into a tight hug. Harry’s eyes widen momentarily, before his relaxes into the unfamiliar embrace. “Please be careful. Bring our boy back in one piece.”

“I will,” Harry promises as he pulls away. “I will.”

-

He leaves that same morning, when the ground is covered in a thin layer of white frost and the fog hangs muggy against his cheeks. The few hours of sleep he managed were restless, plagued with Louis’ face and the unnatural glow in his eyes. The holy blade in the hand that swung down at Harry’s neck. He shudders as he unlocks his car and flicks the collar of his coat up against his neck.

The car roars to life and rattles, squeaking as he drives along the grass slowly and over the deep chasms of potholes. He can’t help the way his teeth chatter along with the rest of his body as he drives towards to rusted gates. The stones flick up and tap against his windows.

The drive from Barnes to Doncaster is over three hours long, so Harry plays one of his old, scratched up mix-tapes that hasn’t seen the light of day for months. It’s filled with an odd mixture of 80’s rock and synth pop and it feels strange, to listen to music, to do something that feels somewhat normal. For a moment, just a moment, he allows himself to pretend that he’s going on a road trip, that it’s summer and he can wind the windows down and stick his arms out and sing along.

Instead he remains silent, and keeps the windows firmly rolled up against winter’s sharp fangs.

He wonders if Louis really is in Doncaster at all, and if he’s just wasting time. He hadn’t taken a car. Harry guesses that he didn’t have any money with him. Just the holy blade and the clothes on his back. It could be that he’s just hiding in Barnes, waiting out the eclipse. Or he’s freezing and lost in the middle of nowhere.

_There’s something I have to tell you._

_You’ll hate me so much_.

_You have to let me do this._

The thoughts in his head make Harry’s stomach lurch and he goes heavier on the accelerator, whizzing past the little towns.

He stops somewhere near Peterborough for gas and breakfast. He struggles rather uncomfortably through a muesli bar and a packet of sultanas as he huddles into his car seat, stomach feeling too tied up to swallow. With his beanie pulled down low over his ears and his coat still pressed against his neck, he slides down slightly into his seat and closes his eyes for a few minutes.

By the time he starts driving through the Doncaster borough it’s nearing midday. The sun is still trapped behind the oppressive clouds and it turns the world grey. It’ll rain later. He’ll be surprised if it doesn’t.

Harry drives through Tickhill and then turns right past Warmsworth, hands tightening on the wheel as he gets closer. If Simon has noticed he’s gone, the teams up this way will be looking for him too. Even if he hasn’t noticed, Harry has spent a lot of time in the northern districts, and he’s familiar with quite a few of the hunters up here. He needs to be careful.

Harry drives slowly through the town and tries not to stop, but makes sure to keep his eyes searching. In his book, Louis had written _farm_ , so Harry guesses that he won’t find Louis right in the centre. But it’s worth a look, just in case.

Who he _does_ spot, however, is a girl from the Sheffield district, Elena, he thinks her name is. He hasn’t seen anyone from around here for a few years, so it’s hard to tell, but he’s sure that it’s her. She’s dressed in casual clothes and she’s sitting out the front of a tiny café. Harry drives past a little faster and checks in his rear view mirror. She didn’t see him, as far as he knows.

So they’re out looking, too.

Harry decides to get out of the constraints of the town and circle around its borders, taking the dirt roads and moving away from the concrete buildings into the fields. There are a few houses that he sees, all bright paint and clean bricks with cars and tractors piled in the front yards.

Just as he’s turning down another road, his com buzzes beside him. The obnoxious sound makes him jump. He flicks it on cautiously.

“Harry,” Zayn’s voice crackles through. It’s hushed, conversation floating in and out as background noise. “Simon knows you’re gone. He’s got everyone in Sheffield looking for you and Louis.”

“Shit,” Harry mutters. Dirt and drying mud flicks up and patters against his car.

“Have you found him?” Zayn asks.

“No, not yet,” Harry sighs.

“Well, you need to hurry,” Zayn says urgently. Someone says his name in the background, and there’s a rustling sound. “I have to go. Things are getting crazy here. Please be safe.”

The com beeps as Zayn disconnects. Great. _Great._

Even if he finds Louis, there’s no guarantee they’ll make it back to Barnes for tomorrow. Harry wouldn’t live with himself if he knew he had left them all there.

To his left, he sees another house. It’s obscured by the tall trees that hang over the road, but as Harry moves closer slowly he can see that it’s rundown, charred and crumbling. Cautiously, he rolls the car forward until he stops in front of the long lane that leads up to the looming house.

It’s all dead and overgrown, spindly plants stick up in menacing tuffs and the peeling paint looks smudged green with grime and mould. The left side of it is black in places, burnt wood from a fire. Further left there’s the structure of what looks like was once a barn. Now, half of it has fallen apart, and it’s lost all its colour completely.

Strangely, he notices that one of the doors is wide open.

Odd.

Harry frowns and flicks of the ignition in his car slowly, looking over his shoulder and down the dusty road. He’s alone, for now.

The slamming of his door sounds loud against the quiet surroundings. There are no birds, no cars or voices. It’s completely silent. Only the crunching of his boots fill the air as he walks between the lopsided fence, the barbed wire springing and twisting in odd directions. Either side of him lays long, lanky brown grass and plants. They collapse onto the path and struggle towards him, like they’re trying to get to the puddles, to touch the water.

He decides against going into the house. It’s giant up close. The windows are all smashed and jagged, frames warped and bent awkwardly. Harry peers up at it and digs his hands deeper into his coat pockets. He turns away slowly, eyes trained on the grimy building.

Up close to the barn, he can see a few tiny speckles of paint still clinging on for dear life in a discoloured red. 

Harry walks to the open doors carefully and peers inside. It’s dusty and dark and the air feels muffled, like it’s being trapped under thick blankets and it’s old, nothing fresh slipping inside. It feels like there’s no life.

Harry’s eyes follow the skeleton of what once was a staircase, now broken and splintered. He jumps out of his skin when he notices Louis sitting at the very top with his head in his hands.

“Louis,” he says.

Louis’ head snaps up, his hands frozen. Hidden behind his fingers, Harry can only see his eyes in the distance, and he swears that they flash with a glow.

“What are you doing here.” It isn’t a question, but there’s alarm laced through it.

Harry steps into the murky space. “Louis, we need to go back to Old Barnes. You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“You shouldn’t have come,” Louis breathes. Harry notices that it smells like smoke.

“The entire district is looking for us,” Harry starts towards him and stands at the bottom of the stairs. He cranes his neck up. “We need to leave _now_.”

“Just go, Harry!” Louis shouts. “You aren’t safe here.”

“I’m not safe anywhere,” Harry bites. “I’m not fucking safe anywhere, nobody is! We can’t be safe in a place, but we can be safer with other people. And I won’t leave you here. You’re mad if you think I’m leaving you here.”

Harry notices that Louis’ feet are bare. They’re caked in dirt and have scratches running across them. His pants are the same, all dirty and ripped. But his skin almost glows, and his eyes are piercing.

“You aren’t safe with me,” Louis whispers. “Harry, I promise you, you aren’t safe with me.”

“Did Simon confront you, then?” Harry says. He moves up the stairs. “Did he tell you what he thinks? I don’t care, Louis. I don’t _care._ I know that you’re trying to fight it. I know that you’re not on Its side.”

“Stop,” Louis closes his eyes.

“No,” Harry snaps. “I won’t stop. No matter what bullshit Simon says, whether it’s true or not, I’m always going to be on your side. He doesn’t believe anything I say, but I know you’re not working with It.”

“Harry, please,” Louis shakes his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then _make_ me understand!” Harry shouts desperately. “We have to work together in this.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Louis bites out, standing. “Come here.”

Harry stomps up the last few steps with a heaving chest and fiery eyes. Louis mutters something under his breath, then looks at Harry wearily.

“Do not move.”

He touches his fingers to Harry’s forehead, and it burns.

Harry jolts as his eyes flicker and the world around him is replaced by bright colours. Everything is surrounded by a glowing aura and it looks almost underwater, the picture blurred with iridescent light.

It comes in quick flashes, like stop-motion. A man and a women and the house, people gathered and the hot sun, the cold winter. Rain and a shadowed figure and muttered curses, symbols and the smell of smoke and red eyes. The hairs on Harry’s arms stand up on end as goosebumps shoot through his entire body.

He can feel anger and despair and hope all at once, the emotions attacking his senses as the pictures continue. There’s a little boy and two little girls playing among the grass, money and life and health. Everything is _so_ bright that it almost seems fake, like it’s been enhanced and if the effect was stripped away everything would be in a grayscale.

But then Harry doesn’t have to imagine, because it is. He feels bile rise in his throat as the images flit into his mind, blood and screaming and twisting bodies and oh _God._ He sees It trying to hurt the little boy, to hurt _Louis_ , and the glowing light that shoots out of him, the searing heat that erupts. The fire. The smoke. Harry can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t-

Louis pulls his hand away and grips onto the front of Harry’s shirt as he starts to fall backwards. He tugs him forward sharply, both of them breathing heavily. Harry can feel the sweat sliding down his back, can taste the salty moisture gathered on the top of his lip and at the back of his neck. It’s so warm, it’s so fucking _warm._

“You didn’t make the deal,” Harry is gasping for breath and his words come out slurred. “Your father did.”

Louis nods slowly. There are so many things running through his mind. _It wasn’t his fault. How did he do that? How? He never knew about his family until recently. How could he deal with that? How is he still coping? How did he fight Agramon away from his mind?_

“I know,” Louis mutters into the silence. “I’m filthy.”

“What?” Harry blanches.

“I’ve got demons blood,” Louis says, blinking heavily.

“That isn’t your fault,” Harry moves to reassure him, but Louis flinches away.

“You can’t touch me,” he says. Harry frowns.

“Why?”

“You just can’t,” Louis warns.

After a moment of silence, Harry begins his questioning again tentatively. “What was…what was that light? In that memory you showed me, what was it?”

Louis says nothing, his eyes cast down to the ground.

“It was heavenly fire, wasn’t it?” Harry breathes. “That’s what you’ve been looking for.”

Louis flicks his eyes up. “You shouldn’t have read what was in that book.”

Harry realizes then that Louis won’t let him dig too deep. There’s something more going on, a reason why they’re in this barn, but Louis isn’t going to tell him. All he can do is get them into the car and on the way back to Barnes before somebody finds them.

“Please, Lou,” Harry begs quietly. “We have to go. If you won’t come, at least let me take the holy blade back. We need it.”

Louis gives him a look, and Harry feels his stomach tug. He can recognize it under the mask of Louis’ face, under the thin press of his lips and his weary eyes. They won’t need it. Louis knows something.

“What makes you think Simon will let me back in?” Louis raises an eyebrow.

“We’ll work on that when the time comes,” Harry says. “For now, I just want to get out of here. I’ve already seen some of the Sheffield hunters in town.”

Louis follows him reluctantly. Harry notices the way his eyes linger, the way his hands trace slowly against the old wood. It makes his heart plummet, watching how Louis’ eyes drift over his old home. He can’t even imagine how Louis feels right now. All he wants to do is reach out and touch, but he doesn’t dare. Not after Louis’ warning.

“Do you want to go inside?” Harry asks as they start back towards the car, gesturing with a nod of his head to the old house.

Louis ignores him and keeps walking with hunched shoulders.

Once they’re both in the car, Harry shrugs his coat off his shoulders and holds it out to Louis. His arms are bare and he must be absolutely freezing. Louis takes is gingerly, muttering a soft thank you as he spreads it out across the chests and tucks his arms underneath.

“Just to let you know,” Harry says as he starts the car with a rumble, “you’re not the only one that Simon has it out for. I kind of tackled him into the dirt and cut his arms up real bad.”

When Harry looks over there’s a ghost of a smile on Louis’ lips.

-

It starts to spit when they turn into Barnes. The clouds have continued to hang and now they’ve opened up for the afternoon. Harry’s windscreen wipers squeak as they flick back and forth.

They rattle and bump their way through the gates and over the tiny path. Harry parks in between Liam and Louis’ cars and flicks off the ignition. Without the constant putter of the engine, the tense silence between them becomes electric.

“Can I ask a favour?” Louis says, eyes trained ahead of him on the Inn.

“Yeah, of course,” Harry says.

Louis swallows. “When you go inside, can you tell Zayn to come see me?”

“You’re not coming in?” Harry frowns.

“Not yet, no,” Louis mutters. “Please, Harry.”

“Alright,” Harry says tentatively. He opens the door and untangles his legs from the tiny space. Just as he’s sliding out, Louis gets hold of the bottom of his shirt. When Harry looks at him over his shoulder, the holy blade is outstretched in his hand.

Harry forces himself not to look back as he heads towards the Inn. Instead, he focuses on getting to Zayn without being intercepted by Simon first and thrown out on his ass.

As per normal, this always proves easier said than done.

Simon is waiting just inside the entryway to the Inn, and Harry flinches with a hand over his heart when he notices him. Normally, he would make a joke, a quick quip, but his jokes die on his tongue. Simon looks absolutely furious.

Harry follows him into his office without another word.

“Do you have it?” Simon says tersely. Harry swallows nervously at his tone.

He holds the holy blade out gingerly, guilt pooling in his stomach. Simon snatches it out of his hands roughly, then slams it down onto his desk.

“As soon as this is over, I’m transferring you to Newcastle,” Simon snaps as he sits down.

Harry can feel the blood running through him freeze up completely, can feel his heart slam into his ribs and his organs twist.

“What,” he splutters uselessly, mouth hanging open. This, he never expected. This is a nightmare come to life.

Simon isn’t even looking at him, has taken instead to jotting down notes and drawing on the map that’s spread out across the dark wood. Harry watches him with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing as he tries to get his brain to work again. He tries not to think about the reason there’s a spare bed waiting to be filled.

“You can’t do that,” He finally manages, but there’s no force behind it. It’s weak and small and his throat is lined with sludge.

“I can, and I will,” Simon says firmly. “Our arrangements here are no longer working.”

“But, Liam and Niall-“

“Will stay here,” Simon cuts him off.

There’s something ugly and vicious uncurling in Harry’s stomach, and he tries to blink away the fuzziness in his eyes.

“You can’t do that!” He repeats, louder. Simon just sighs and places his pen down on the desk carefully.

“You’ll find a new team,” he says, so simply, like it’s nothing.

Harry shakes his head, voice strained. “This is my _family_. You can’t transfer me!”

“There is only so much trust and faith I can have in a person,” Simon starts. “Tomorrow, the last of the trust and faith that I’ve had in you is going to run out. If we survive this, you will no longer stay in this Inn. You say this is your family, Harry. Your family thinks you helped a demon, your family believes that you let that symbol be carved into our grounds.”

“You don’t understand!” Harry cries. “If you just let me explain, Louis-“

“Enough,” Simon grits out. “I’ve had enough of this.”

“Please-“

“I’ve made my decision,” Simon says, turning back to his map.

Harry stands frozen before him with blurry vision, his jaw clenching and unclenching. He tries to respond, tries to argue, but he knows that if he opens his mouth the moisture in his eyes will flood over and escape.

So he leaves, quietly, slowly, with his breath held in his chest.

The hallway is silent and Harry leans against the wall as he tries to settle himself down. He can feel the way his lungs are constricted, can feel the air getting trapped and caught up in his throat. This place is all he’s known, all he’s had for so long. This is his _home_ , where he feels safe and warm and loved. And it’s being taken away, he has to start all over again. Liam and Niall are his brothers.

By the time he manages to breathe evenly again, there’s fire in his stomach and firm hands pushing down on his heart.

Harry moves through the hallway quickly and wipes his eyes. The lounges are empty, so he heads for the kitchen. He enters rather suddenly, and the congregation of teams, what looks like the entire Inn, cease their conversation and turn their eyes to him.

He can’t stop Simon’s words echoing around his brain as he blinks sporadically and tries to stop his chest heaving. The teams mutter to each other, caution and tentativeness in their faces. Harry swallows audibly.

“Harry.”

Niall stands at the head of the room, Liam and Zayn sitting down beside him. Harry meets Zayn’s eyes, and they’re wide and intense in silent question. Harry gives a subtle nod, before he’s charging across the room and into Niall’s arms.

He hears Zayn’s quiet exhale of breath before his face is buried into Niall’s neck, the boy stumbling with the force of the collision. He doesn’t care if the rest of the Inn thinks he’s crazy right now, he just needs to tug Niall close and hide his wet eyes away.

“Hey, you alright?” Liam’s voice is a whisper. “Zayn said you went-“

Harry holds out his arm and pulls him in sharply, wrapping his arms around both of them. He sees them exchange a look but he just holds on tight and tries to forget, tries to bury it all down into the dirt.

When Harry finally pulls away he cools his features and lets his body appear relaxed. He flicks a quick glance out across the room and keeps his head up high. He can pretend.

He slips into the spare seat beside Zayn, Liam on the other side. Niall claps his hands together and keeps talking out into the room, but it’s muffled and out of focus.

Leaning closer to Zayn, Harry keeps his voice soft and his mouth almost shut entirely. “He’s outside, in my car. Wants to talk to you.”

Zayn’s intake of breath and the shift of his head tells Harry he’s heard him. After a few minutes, he leaves, slinking out the door without a wavering glance at anyone else.

Finally, he manages to pull his mind back to the present. With his arms crossed against the table in front of him, he looks up at Niall as he speaks. Liam shifts beside him nervously.

“-never be separated,” Niall is saying. “Even if you think it’s a good idea to spread and get as many down as you can, that strategy is no good if you end up trying to take on three at a time by yourself. You’re all aware of the drills and the operations that Harry has taught you with, and you know that we’ve shared the same skills that we use in our team.”

Harry tries not to notice the way there’s a few uncomfortable shifts of movement, a few hostile eyes. He looks down at his arms as Niall mentions his name. He wonders if any of them would still listen to him.

“I won’t sugar-coat this,” Niall continues. “A lot of us are going to get hurt tomorrow. You _all_ need to have ointment and powders with you. Nobody gets left behind. Those of you who are patrolling outside of the Inn know what to do already, but for those of us who are remaining on the grounds, Simon has suggested that during the eclipse itself, we’re on defence.”

There’s a wave of mutters that glides over the room, mouths turned down and hands twitching. Harry knows that it’s true, that an offensive attack from their side during the eclipse is destined to fail. They’re just too powerful.

“The totality of the eclipse could last up to seven minutes, so we need to be prepared to fight them off and keep ourselves as safe as we can. Until the eclipse is over, try and stay together. We’re a unit, and we _can_ do this if we work together.”

“What about the Greater Demon?”

Their attention is drawn to the front of the room, to the rows of younger hunters that have their hands clasped together tightly and their shoulders hunched in.

“If Agramon does appear, nobody is to attack it,” Niall says calmly. “The only time any advancements are to be made are before or after the eclipse.”

“But we have the holy blade, right?”

At Niall’s silence, Harry glances up. He finds Niall’s eyes already looking down at him.

“Simon is giving it to Harry,” he says. “He’s going to kill it.”

The room is completely, utterly silent, all air and sound sucked out like a vacuum. Harry’s mouth drops open slightly, eyes turning sharp. But Niall says nothing more, just turns away and keeps talking. When Harry turns back around and looks out across the room nervously, he finds their eyes all trained on him, only the odd few with their attention on Niall.

There’s been a mistake. There’s no way that Simon, of all people, would give the holy blade to Harry, _of all people_. Not after what’s happened. He’s getting _transferred_.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Harry turns to Liam with an accusatory look, mouth pressed together.

“Dinner’s in an hour, you’re dismissed for now,” Niall says. “Simon will probably want to have a word later.”

Chairs scrape and voices fill the room. Liam looks up at Harry guiltily.

“What the fuck?” Harry says, turning to Niall, then back to Liam.

“All I did was pass on the message,” Niall sighs as he sits down. “I don’t know, Harry.”

“He wouldn’t give it to me,” Harry shakes his head.

“Why? You’re amazing and everybody knows it,” Liam says.

Harry closes his eyes briefly. He can’t tell them about the transfer, not now, not when everything is so delicate.

“After everything that’s happened…” Harry says instead. “He doesn’t trust me at all, he’s told me so.”

“Well, clearly there’s been some miscommunication, because he said he’s giving it to you,” Niall smiles softly.

Harry sighs and puts his head into his hands, rubbing them over his eyes.

When he peels his head away from his fingers, he catches a brief glimpse of Zayn in the hallway, walking past quickly with his head down.

Harry gets up slowly. “I’ll be back in a second.”

His exit is much faster, and he manages to catch up to the other boy before he gets to his room.

“Hey,” Harry says as he falls into step beside Zayn. “Everything alright? Where is he?”

Zayn stops walking and Harry stumbles a little as he slows his pace abruptly.

Zayn’s face is blotchy and pale, eyes rimmed red and hair hanging down. His lips tremble for a moment, before he moves forward and collapses into Harry’s body with shaking shoulders. Harry stands in shock, gradually wrapping his arms around Zayn. His neck is wet and Zayn’s whole body is trembling and something isn’t right, something really isn’t right.

“Zayn,” Harry says softly, rubbing his hand over his back. “What happened?”

He gets no response. There’s only loud hacking, sobs, and Zayn’s hands holding onto Harry’s t-shirt like a lifeline.

“I’m so scared,” Zayn whispers brokenly, on a wet exhale.

It’s too much, seeing someone like Zayn in this state, all resolve crumbled and so fragile, vulnerable.

“So am I,” Harry responds, hugging him tight. “We all are.”

Zayn shakes his head frantically, pushing his face deeper against Harry’s neck. “He won’t come in. He said he needs to be alone.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him in a minute,” Harry murmurs. “Everything’s alright.”

Again, Zayn shakes his head, pulling away this time as he does so. He wipes at his runny nose and swallows. “Don’t. He has to be alone.”

Harry frowns, confusion settling deep inside his mind. “Why…”

“Trust me,” Zayn says. “And trust him.”

Zayn rubs his fingers over his eyes, sniffing sharply and swallowing in an attempt to collect himself.

“I’m going to bed,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah,” Harry says distractedly, pulling Zayn in for another long hug.

When he disappears down the corridor, Harry waits three seconds before he’s turning back the ways he’s just come, slipping through the hall past the other hunters briskly.

He moves slower as he passes Simon’s office, and even slower again when he pushes one of the large front doors open with a quiet creak.

Blinking against the dark, the leans out to look to the line of cars parked near the trees. All are dark, except one, and Harry rears back inside with his heart beating against his ribs as the door slips shut behind him.

The lights inside Harry’s car had been on, a murky, shadowed yellow.

Louis was sitting right where Harry left him. And beside him, sat Simon. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter!!!! wow!!!!! strap yourselves in!!!!!!
> 
> warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, blood, minor character death

Harry doesn’t sleep. None of them do.

The walls around him pulse and breathe sighs, whispers, curses, cries.

The pipes rumble all night, hot water flushing through them and onto trembling bodies. Harry can’t sleep, can’t make his mind quiet. He can’t stop thinking about Louis, about Simon, about what could happen during the eclipse.

The last time he’d seen Agramon, he’d practically been dead, just from a little trick of the mind. Harry wonders how many of them will fall victim to it, how many of them won’t make it out. It makes him feel ill, makes his stomach feel like it’s full of acid, like bubbling ichor, and he wants to be sick.

Moonlight pierces the room through the cracks between the curtain, thin bullets of light that are a reminder of what’s to come, that the moon has its presence and it’s going to wash over them again soon. Harry wonders what it will be like, if it will be colder than usual, if the world with turn pitch black, like flicking off a switch, like smothering a flame.

There are footsteps wandering the halls all night, hands trailing along the walls and gentle voices crawling underneath his door. There’s tense energy all around him, and he spends half the night face down into his pillows, breathing with his mouth wide open as phantom nails stroke down his spine.

When daylight finally begins to break, Harry skips out on his normal walk, and instead pads quietly down stairs, already wrapped up tight in his hunting clothes, black on black like a shadow. There’s a soft glow peeking out from under the thick door of the weapons room, and Harry pushes his way inside silently, ready to fill his belt.

Niall stands inside, a bunch of silver cases propped open on one of the tables, a gun and a slick cloth in either hand. He’s dressed already, too, but his hair is still mussed and sticking up in blond tuffs, like it’s been tugged at over and over.

“Hey,” he greets softly as he lowers his gun to the table.

“Morning,” Harry says blearily. He sniffs and moves across the room to where his things are packed away.

“You’re up early,” Niall comments. Harry hears the _click_ of a magazine being released, and the tinkling of bullets.

“Didn’t really sleep,” Harry says. “I don’t know, my room just felt stuffy or something.”

Niall hums in reply. Harry lays out his sanctiums on the table, all of them covered by their sleeves so only the handles poke out, patterns turning copper in the gentle light. There’s a general selection of blades that the Inn share, but these are _his_ , the sanctiums he’s been using since he first arrived at Old Barnes. He’s grown used to their shape, the way they’re a little sleeker than most others, the grip on the handles.

It’s the same way Niall’s gun are unique to him, passed down to him through his family, bullets lined with heavenly fire. Harry had been told the story once, of how his ancestors had summoned an angel to do what they had with their blades, to infuse the silver with power from heaven, so that they could be used to fight the demons away, too.

Niall has cases of the bullets now in safe keeping, only using the infused bullets during special occasions. The handguns are marked with symbols as well, but sometimes they just need the bullets to create that link. He didn’t like to brag about it, and the other teams used to give him funny looks when they would head off with their belts loaded with knives, and there was Niall with his guns spinning in his fingers.

It’s a tender memory now, and Harry tries to will away the strain in his heart. He doesn’t want to leave Barnes. He doesn’t want any of them to die.

Harry watches him, the way he handles them carefully and loads the bullets into the magazines with delicate, nimble fingers. The light dusts his hair in sandy, calming yellows, the tiny blots of darkness under his eyes making him look sleep worn.

“You’ll be careful today, won’t you?” Harry says, breaking their comfortable silence. His belt is heavier now, sanctiums slotted comfortably into place.

Niall glances up at him, and his lips curve into a small, reassuring smile. “Of course. We’ll be alright.”

Soon, other hunters begin to come downstairs, all dressed and ready to load up their belts. Harry and Niall leave when it begins to get crowded in the small room, the hush that had settled over them turning into an anxious hum.

The dining room is the same, most of the teams already dressed while others are still curled into their thick sweaters, hands clasped tightly around giant mugs of coffee, eyes drooping. Harry spots Liam and Zayn in the corner, tucked together and nibbling on thick slices of multigrain bread, Zayn’s caked in peanut butter, Liam’s sticky with honey.

Niall joins him in the kitchen, pulling a bowl out for each of them and reaching into the fridge for the milk. They pour and putter around in silence. Niall takes his bowl, and Harry is still leaning against the counter, reaching and sifting among the boxes.

He doesn’t realize what he’s done until he’s walking across the dewy grass towards his car, the giant mix of cereal in the bowl sloshing over the sides.

Louis is curled up in the car seat with his limbs tucked together. He must have been absolutely freezing, and Harry can feel his stomach sinking low, low, lower as he pulls the door open as quietly as he can. Louis cracks one eye open and rolls his neck with a crack.

“I brought you breakfast,” Harry murmurs as he closes the door. The air is chilled inside, windows still fogged up in the corners. Despite the cold, Harry can feel the heat radiating from Louis’ body as he moves closer.

“Thank you,” Louis says, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Someone must have brought his clothes out, too, because he’s dressed in thick black to match Harry, his dirty clothes discarded in the back seat.

“You should have come in,” Harry says as he passes the bowl to him. “You must have been so cold all night.”

“It’s fine,” Louis croaks through his first mouthful.

They sit in silence as Louis eats. Harry tucks his knees up to his chest and digs his feet into the seat, looking out across the grounds to the Inn. When Louis is done, he leans forward and places the bowl carefully on the dashboard, then tucks his hands back into his pockets.

There’s so much that Harry wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to start, doesn’t know how to communicate the millions of thoughts that are buzzing around him annoyingly. Luckily, Louis speaks first.

“I’m sorry about how…secretive and weird I’ve been,” he says. “I should have tried to communicate with you more about everything that was going on but. I was scared. And confused.”

“I understand,” Harry says softly. “We’ve all been like that, not in our own heads, you more so than the rest of us.”

“I don’t just mean the things between Agramon and I,” Louis sighs. “I mean between us as well. I missed you so much, and I should have talked to you more, tried to fix things properly.”

“You remember when you asked me if I wanted us to mend?”

Louis nods.

“I guess I didn’t know the answer because I’d separated myself so far away from what happened that all I _did_ remember was being angry, and being so upset with you,” Harry says. “But I completely pushed away those other feelings I had. How much I loved you and cared about you, how scared I was that whole night that you weren’t going to make it.”

Louis remains silent, his eyes soft blue in the morning light.

“And if it’s anyone’s fault for the way things turned out after Leeds,” Harry continues, voice slightly wobbly, “it’s mine. _I_ should have tried to fix things then, before you left. And I should have tried harder when you came back. I missed you. I missed being with you. And now that you’re here, after everything that’s happened, I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me still, and how scared I am to lose you again.”

“You won’t lose me,” Louis breathes. “I promise, H. Even after I was gone, you never lost me. I was always thinking about you, thinking about us. You won’t lose me. We’ll look out for each other.”

“Please come inside,” Harry begs. “I want us all together. Safe.”

“I can’t,” Louis says tightly. “Simon doesn’t want me in there. And once everything is over he wants me gone.”

Harry lets out a quiet huff of laughter, but it’s hardly amused. “He’s transferring me. To Newcastle.”

Louis blinks in surprise. “What?”

“Mm,” Harry hums, resting his cheek on his kneecap. “And he’s keeping Liam and Niall here.”

“Asshole,” Louis grits out, eyes narrowed and lip pouted. Despite himself, Harry feels a smile creep onto his face, cheeks mushed against his knees.

“To be fair, I did take him down pretty hard,” Harry says. Louis presses his lips together in an attempt to keep his smile at bay, nose scrunching.

“I’m coming with you,” he says. “If we make it through this, I’m coming with you. I won’t let you go alone after all this. I’ll be there for you.”

Harry breathes in sharply, their eyes locked together like magnets, unwavering and made to fit together.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” Harry whispers. The curve of Louis’ lips flattens slowly, turning soft and shy.

“I wish you could,” he replies quietly.

Harry doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to leave him alone for the whole day. It was Simon who had given them orders to stick together, to be safer in their numbers. But Harry wanted them all together, their whole team, huddled in close.

“You should go inside and eat something,” Louis murmurs, finally pulling his eyes away.

“I don’t want to,” Harry replies. “I want to stay right here.”

“Looks like you’re being sought after,” Louis says, nodding his head out towards the ground. Harry turns and see’s Liam lingering in the doorway, holding it open with shoulder. Harry looks to Louis in alarm, the muscles in his legs squeezing nervously.

“I’ll be alright,” Louis says. “Might go for a walk. Stretch my legs.”

Harry sighs and brings both hands to his mouth, kissing them firmly before he blows them towards Louis, who rolls his eyes. Harry throws him one last longing gaze, before he slips out of the car and hurries across the grounds, to where Liam is waiting with his hands tucked underneath his armpits.

“Sorry,” Liam says in greeting.

“We were just talking,” Harry says

“I know,” Liam says, his tone serious. “Sorry.”

Niall and Zayn are already inside Simon’s office when they enter, the three of them clad in black and their belts heavy. It’s strange seeing Simon in hunting gear. He doesn’t usually go himself, retired from fighting and instead trying to run this place smoothly.

“I’m sending the patrol teams out in half an hour,” Simon explains as he looks between them all.

Harry can’t help but let his eyes wander to Zayn, standing dark and silent with distant eyes.

“I need you boys to help me round up the younger ones once the eclipse begins to reach totality,” Simon says. “I want them downstairs, underground. The rest of us will be on the grounds protecting each other and the church.”

“When do you think the activity will start?” Niall asks.

“Early afternoon, perhaps,” Simon guesses. “But we need to be prepared for them at any time, they might try to wear us down. I can feel it already, their presence.”

They all nod in understanding, their hands clasped together as they listen.

“I’m going to have a few groups patrolling outside too, just to be on the lookout,” Simon says, his eyes flicking to Harry’s. “I need people watching the area.”

Harry knows the deeper intent behind that, knows that he wants Louis to be watched too. They share a tense glance, eyes both knowing. Simon breaks away first, pulling the holy blade from his belt. He holds it out.

“Here,” he says.

“Are you sure? I mean, I think that you should use it,” Harry stutters. He sees three heads turn to him in his peripheral vision.

“I’m not much of a fighter anymore,” Simon says as he stretches his arm out further. “It’s better if it’s with you.”

Harry reaches out hesitantly, and slots the blade into one of his spare pouches, cool and heavy against his hip.

“I’ll see you all soon,” Simon says with a nod.

The group trail out of the office slowly, other black-clad figures passing them in the hallway as they start their rounds outside. Harry breaks away to go to the kitchen and grab an apple, before he makes his way into one of the lounges, where he finds the other three sitting on the floor with their backs against the couch.

“It feels weird without Louis here,” Niall says as Harry lowers himself to the floor carefully. “I hope he’s alright.”

Harry freezes slightly, his eyes brushing to Zayn’s. They share a quick glance, before Zayn blinks his long lashes down at his feet, mouth turned down.

“Well he’s here in one piece,” Liam smiles. “Maybe he didn’t get hold of the heavenly fire after all.”

“Maybe,” Harry says absently. He’s become rather sceptical that Zayn has no input into this, when he’s usually so fired up when it comes to Louis. There’s just something that he isn’t telling him. “You okay, Zayn?”

“Fine,” he croaks, without looking up. Liam and Niall give them both a look. Harry munches on his apple.

They spend the remainder of the morning spread out on the floor of the longue, old cartoons playing on low in the background. The more he thinks about the eclipse, the more insistent the buzzing in the back of his mind becomes, until he’s hyperaware of every sound and every movement. It licks at the base of his skull and creeps forward, burning.

All four of them are fidgeting, their fingers playing with the hilts of their sanctiums and picking at the bally carpet. Harry wants this to be over now, wants it to pass without a fuss, without injury or hurt. He wants to convince Simon that this has all been a dream, a misunderstanding, that he can stay here, that he doesn’t have to go all the way up to Newcastle. That he doesn’t have to leave his boys behind.

It’s just past noon when they pick themselves up off the worn out floor and trudge into the dining room. Harry, Niall and Zayn curl up on their chairs while Liam heats up a left over tub of spaghetti from the night before. Around the room, the other teams all sit nervously, twirling their blades in their hands and staring blankly at the tabletops.

The waiting is the worst part. They all know what they’re in for. They all know that chaos is about to hit them. They just don’t know when.

Harry eats slowly. With each mouthful, he finds his throat closing up even more, his stomach pushing everything back up and away in protest. In the end, he just feels ill after finishing half of his bowl, the cheese drying and sticking to the outside. He tries scraping it off with his fork. The high-pitched scratching sounds makes his skin prickle.

It feels like there are fingers pulling at the back of his head, twisting his hair and making his skin tingle painfully. Blinking slowly, he tries to pull himself out of his thoughts and away from the pulsing of his brain. He vaguely registers Liam stacking their bowls back up and taking them into the kitchen to rinse them in the sink.

When Liam sits back down, there’s this odd silence in Harry’s mind for a moment, just for a moment.

Then, that silence is filled but an unnatural screech, muffled by the walls.

Heads turn all over the room. Chairs scrape and plates are knocked to the ground as they all run, like a sea of shadows as they hurry down the halls and out onto the grounds. Harry notices Simon among the fray. When they get outside, they circle the outside of the Inn, the few teams already on the grounds standing closer to the trees.

Harry knows better than to look up at the sun, but he knows that if he did, he would see the tiniest sliver of shadow beginning to pass across it.

He can hear it clearly now, the sickly gurgling sounds, guttural screeches and screams as the things start to slip out of the shadows. The forest warps around them as they slink across the grass, bodies gluggy and billowing smoke as they advance slowly. They’re the same demons that they fought off in Weybridge.

Among the hunters that had been on watch, Harry makes out Louis’ figure among them, body taut and strung back, ready to pounce if they come any closer.

“You need to go straight for the neck!” He’s saying, turning to all of them now. “Cut their heads off!”

The message is repeated, a giant murmur passing across the grounds as the instructions zip along the lines. Harry turns his head, seeing that the hunters have wrapped themselves around the building and disappear over the side.

His head is pounding along with his heart as Raveners start to appear among the dark masses, horrid snarls and snapping jaws adding to the buzzing energy around them. They just keep coming, the green area filled with smoke and darkness, tainted by the amount of demons that are coming together.

When the Moloch demons start to crawl from the ground, he hears himself and his team take in a collective breath. Harry searches for Louis again, but they’ve become so bunched together as they back away that he’s lost in the crowd.

They’re stuck. The number of demons is growing rapidly, but if they attack now and attempt to take them all down, they’ll be exhausted by the time the eclipse reaches totality. But there’s just so _many_ , and if they leave it be, they’re going to be in more trouble than they already are. Around him, bodies tremble, and blades are drawn slowly.

He and Simon share a look.

The decision is made when with a few snapping teeth and twisted smirks, the demons advance abruptly, rapidly, ferociously.

The grounds erupt into chaos.

It’s like two cars going full speed, meeting head on in a collision, the force of it rocking the ground and sending debris flying. Harry advances forward swiftly and knocks straight into one of the Moloch demons, stabbing it down viciously before he strikes at the next. He spins and ducks and cuts, ichor spraying and smoke obscuring everything, making it hard to breath.

He loses sight of the boys almost immediately, getting lost in the fray of slamming bodies.

Harry keeps himself alert, never standing still as he weaves his way through the demons and hunters. The demons that they’d fought in Weybridge are proving even harder to kill, and Harry has to force them into the ground and hold their heads down while he rips them apart. They’re healing too quickly, and he has to take their heads off before their tendons start to repair.

It’s dirty and violent and Harry isn’t sure if the blood sticking to his jacket is his, another hunters, or if it belongs to a demon. There’s the sound of blades slicing and people crying out all across the grounds, and the sound is making him dizzy, the buzzing that’s made itself comfortable in his head battering down against his brain and sinking its teeth in.

It almost reminds Harry of that night in Leeds, when they’d been surrounded in the thick mud with no escape. Except in Leeds the demons hadn’t kept reappearing. They’d cut them down and dealt with them one by one until they were all screeching and fading out of this world.

Now, though, they just keep coming, like the shadows in the forest and giving them life, like the soil is pushing them up out of the ground and exposing them to the sun.

The grass is slick with blood and Harry trips over himself trying to back away and dodge a fast moving Moloch demon that’s quickly become adapted to his movements and is aiming right for his throat. They both go down hard onto the ground, and Harry tries to roll them quickly, the holy blade wet with blood in his hand.

He manages to thump the thing onto its side with a snarl and slice across its neck sharply before it can right itself. It shrieks as sticky, bubbling liquid pours out of the gash and Harry moves before he can see it die, too antsy to be keeping still when everything around him is spinning and moving in fast forward.

It’s as he realizes that he’s somehow managed to move to the other side of the Inn completely, that he hears a piercing roar shudder across the grounds. Snapping his head around, Harry feels his face grow sickly pale as they giant demon appears, greasy fur and slimy body crashing through the trees. The hunters around it freeze and look up at it with gaping mouths.

Harry is sprinting through the muck before he can stop himself, noticing Zayn on his far left, following the same path over the mucky ground.

When they reach the beast, Harry wastes no time ducking under its legs and avoiding the giant barbs that swing through the air. He reaches up and cuts a long line through its stomach just as they’d done in Redditch, except this time he goes in deep, tugging the holy blade straight through the thick, lumpy flesh continuously. It’s inside slop onto the ground, and Harry see’s Zayn in his vision, swiping at its legs wildly as the demon screams loudly.

Harry rolls out of the way as it goes down, and he keeps running, back into the mass of bodies and demons. He launches himself at a Moloch demon that’s advancing on one of the younger girls, stabbing it through the back of its neck. He pushes it into the dirt with his knees digging into its back, and he presses the holy blade down again to make sure it’s a clean cut.

“Round up your team and move to front of the Inn! Get inside!” He shouts are her over the noise of the fighting.

Then he’s running again, adrenaline spiking through his entire body as he rounds up the younger hunters and pulls demons off their shaking bodies. He hasn’t seen Niall, but he can hear gunfire ringing out over screaming demons and cries of pain, can picture the lethal precision of his shots and the pile of demons that would be shuddering in front of him.

As he continues along the side of the Inn he spots Liam, covered in blood and wrestling with a Moloch demon ferociously. Looking around, Harry can see how exhausted everyone is feeling, can feel his knees and joints screaming at him as he hurls himself at a Ravener.

He’s lost track of time, and no matter how much Harry likes to think he’s killed a significant amount of demons, they’re still coming faster and fiercer. As he swivels his head, he notices the way the others are trying to manoeuvre themselves away, already on the defensive as the demons advance unrelentingly.  Panting, he finally spots Louis towards the front of the Inn, a blade in each hand as he goes after a Ravener.

“Louis!” He shouts as he runs towards him.

He doesn’t hear him, blades lodged deep into the Ravener’s throat as he ducks away from its biting teeth, face screwed up and jacket torn at the sleeves.

When he reaches him, Louis is almost wheezing and they share a panicked look as their gazes float across the grounds to the rest of the hunters who are all looking the same. Injured, out of breath, out of energy. The demons scuttle and jitter around them, garbled growls turning into screams as they attack.

Harry is so caught up in his mind, that it’s almost a surprise when the world around them suddenly becomes swamped in murky blue shadow. They all freeze, blades raised high or crouched or about to launch themselves forward, and look up.

It’s like someone has taken in a deep breath and blown out the lights, a tiny _whoomph_ of air as their world is trapped inside a glass jar. The chill seeps into them, and the stillness of the demons makes Harry’s hair stand on end as he and Louis back away together with heaving chests.

It seems unnaturally silent now, after the constant sound of fighting and blood being shed. The hunters huddle together around the outside of the Inn, all of them covered in blooming bruises and deep scratches. The demons stay still, and the only movement comes from the few that are still emerging from the tree-line and the ground. But now, they do so silently, and an eerie buzz is palpable. It smothers them.

Nothing is happening, and Harry glances up again at the sky quickly. Seven minutes. Just seven minutes and it could all be over.

He flinches when Louis’ hand latches onto his arm tightly, his nails digging in as he stands rigidly. Harry follows his wide eyed gaze across the grounds, and feels his blood turn icy when he sees the smoke that’s curling out of the dark shadows between the trees. It smells like something is burning, like charred flesh, and Harry’s stomach churns. Around him, bodies shift uncomfortably, packing together and backing away with trembling hands.

Harry lets a scared whimper slip through his lips, and he bites his tongue as heads turn to him. The smoke is pressing itself together, taking shape into two forms. When glowing, beady white eyes appear among the slowly solidifying smoke, Louis raises his free hand to his mouth and clamps it over his lips.

There’s a strange hissing sound, and the demons around them all jitter and vibrate with energy, like they’re giggling, sinister and malevolent. A pair of red eyes join the white, and piercing grins float through the dark. Moloch’s face is twisted and Its body is lumbering, a dark aura still settling around it. Harry knows that it isn’t whole, because he only tore it apart a few years ago. Agramon must have managed to piece It back together just enough.

Its eyes find Harry and Louis, and Harry can’t help the way his lips curl as Moloch smiles at them with unblinking eyes, letting the smoke drift to them. Agramon is huge, twice the size of Moloch. There’s more smoke still swirling around It, but Harry can make out Its form through the haze and the off blue light, the long, sharp claws and the twisted fangs. It looks like a walking nightmare, and Harry’s heart is beating too hard. It hurts to breathe.

Louis tremors violently beside him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Agramon finally speaks. It’s voice echoes across the grounds, the buzz in Harry’s ears almost unbearable as It talks. “You’ve been quite the little trickster, haven’t you?”

The hunters around them glance nervously in their direction, eyes wide. Louis says nothing, just keeps his grip on Harry’s arm and swallows.

“I’m done playing games,” It hisses. The demons around the grounds squawk and screech, bodies thrumming and shifting as they wait. “I want what was promised to me. And you’re defenceless against me, now.”

Its burning eyes glance up at the moon, and the smile It wears spreads over Its entire face obscenely.

“It feels good to be back,” Moloch says suddenly, drifting towards the crowd. They all shuffle away, gripping each other close. “Look, my favourite little toys are here. What a happy reunion.”

Harry glares as Its eyes roam over them, a knowing, devilish smirk filling out Its face. “Oh, and look at that. You did survive after all. It was a nasty bite, that one. Shame.”

Harry leans forward and tilts his head down the line of people. He realizes that Liam is standing just down the line, his expression pinched and aggressive. Harry moves to advance, but Louis pulls him back sharply and shoots him a warning look.

Liam doesn’t respond, just clenches his teeth and grips his blade tighter.

“What, no welcome back? No joyous reunion? I thought we really connected among all that mud. Don’t you remember when we rolled around in the muck?” Moloch says innocently, like they’d shared stories in the sandbox, like It hadn’t torn Its way through Louis’ body and ripped the skin on his legs to shreds.

“Enough,” Agramon’s voice booms, and Moloch cowers slightly, Its playful grin slipping into a snarl.

Harry notices how sharp the other demons look now. There’s almost no sign of smoke trailing behind the Moloch demons, or Agramon’s army. They’re tightly packed figures, lethal and full. He also notices how exhausted he and the rest of the Inn are, and he wonders if they’ll survive this at all.

“It’s time for you to join your father,” Agramon drifts closer and stares down at Louis. “You’ve had your fun.”

Harry shakes himself free of Louis’ hold abruptly and steps forward, the holy blade in a firm grip.

“You’re not taking him,” he says as he looks up.

Agramon makes an amused sound and slinks closer, pressing Its red eyes right up close. “You think that little knife scares me? I’ve dealt with things far more powerful.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Harry barrels on. “Soon, you’ll be cut up into little pieces again,” he passes a scathing look at Moloch, who curls Its lip back sharply, “and sucked out into the Void. You’ll never be whole, not like we are.”

Behind him, the crowd shifts, drawing their sanctiums slowly. Agramon growls, and exhales thick smoke.

“You don’t know love, or protection, or trust!” Harry shouts, raising the blade high in the air. “And you won’t break us! You’ll never, _ever_ , be whole in this world. Ever.”

There’s a deep rumble of sound, snarling and shouting, and Harry realizes suddenly that it’s coming from behind him, not the demons ahead. Agramon narrows its glowing eyes, and the hunters advance.

As soon as the demons collide with them again it’s a bloodbath. Harry is pushed back to the Inn almost instantly, surprised by the steady pace of the demons, and how quickly they observe and mimic his movements. Agramon’s demons are healing too quickly, their skin tough. Harry has to _tug_ to tear through, but the cuts he makes are already halfway healed by the time he gets his blade in again.

People are crying out everywhere, and Harry squints against the hazy light. It isn’t completely dark, but there’s a steady layer of smoke spreading across the grounds and it makes him cough and wheeze, his eyes watering with blurry vision. There’s a sharp pain running along his right arm, and he’s sure he’s been bitten or scratched but everything feels fuzzy. His hands are stained sticky red and his face is too hot.

Ahead, past the hazy air, Harry can make out two sets of beady eyes lingering on his movements. The others are doing just as they were told, and stay well away. But Harry knows the Greater Demons are waiting them out, and he needs to do something quickly before the totality ends and they’re all like sitting ducks again.

Just as Harry starts to advance, lips curled in a threatening growl, he’s pulled backwards suddenly, _sharply_ , and his jacket presses against his throat. He gasps and kicks his legs out as he’s dragged backwards rapidly, shouting and feeling his entire body go into panic and shock. He can barely see anything, just rapid movement and shining blades as he’s moved.

He’s hauled backwards and he makes another attempt to break free with his heart in his throat, his breathing spluttered, before he’s engulfed in warm air and the sound outside is muffled. Taking in a large, wheezing breath as he’s suddenly released, Harry rolls onto his front quickly.

“What the fuck!” Harry rasps as he pushes himself onto his hands and knees. Louis is knelt in front of him, a giant cut on his forehead. There’s blood all over the right side of his face and it pools against his neck. His eyes are electric and frantic.

“Harry, listen to me,” he’s talking so quickly that Harry can barely understand him, his head still fuzzy. “When the time comes you _have_ to run. You need to listen to Zayn and you have to run, okay?”

“Louis, what-“ this is all so sudden and Harry’s head is spinning. There’s screaming coming from outside and he can’t make sense of anything at all.

“You have to run!” Louis shouts. He shakes his head, his hands hovering in the air shakily.

He grabs Harry’s face roughly and pulls him forward, and it _burns_. Heat fucking sears through him and Harry lets out a pained gasp into Louis’ mouth. It tastes like blood and sweat and desperation and Harry pushes forward, crying out at the heat that’s engulfed his face. It’s over as quickly as it began and Louis’ eyes flash as he stands. He bursts back outside and Harry remains on the floor, counts to three, then follows.

Bile rises into his throat when battle engulfs him again. There are bodies littered across the ground, _hunters_ bodies, people twisting and screaming in pain as they give up, demons doing the same as they fade away from the world. He sees Liam, Niall and Zayn all fighting together, cornering Moloch and Agramon demons and taking them down together savagely.

They’re slowly making their way towards Moloch, who is drifting through the middle of the fray, observing with manic eyes and sharp teeth. Harry hears more tortured screams, and he sees hunters on the ground, Agramon looming over them. The smoke blurs everything and Harry’s heart thumps, getting lost in thought for a moment as he pictures his mother again.

The totality is almost over, the blue light slowly lifting around them.

Underneath the noise, he hears Louis shouting, frantic and almost hysterical. Harry turns swiftly, trying to find him. He spots Louis in the middle of the fighting, and Harry see’s Zayn glance towards him quickly, before he’s grabbing onto Liam and Niall and tugging them across the grounds sharply.

“ _Run!_ ” He’s screaming, and all around him hunters turn. At the sound of his voice the bolt, heading for the trees. Harry stands frozen, blinking rapidly as things around him fall apart. “ _Run! Fucking run! Now!_ ”

Harry is jostled as people run past him urgently, but he can see Louis, can see him moving against the grain and advancing towards Moloch and Agramon. The demons notice, and they chase after him in pursuit, confused and snarling

“Lou!” Harry screams, trying to start towards him frantically. Agramon and Moloch spot Louis in the crowd, putrid smoke curling closer. “ _Louis!_ ”

The wind is knocked out of him as Zayn slams into his body, his arms wrapping tight around Harry’s waist as he drags him.

“Harry, we have to go _now!_ ” He yells frantically. Harry cries out, trying to kick out of his grip and get to Louis. His eyes are full with tears as Zayn hauls him towards the trees, Niall and Liam just ahead of them.

Some of the other demons are chasing them, snarls turning animalistic when they realize they’re trying to escape. Harry has no idea what’s happening, and he screams when Louis drops his blades to the ground as the approaches the Greater Demons.

“Harry, please!” Zayn is shouting hysterically in his ear, over and over, trying to move them faster.

He manages to push them into the trees and Harry yells in pain as the branches scratch against his face and Zayn’s arms press roughly around his waist. Their view of the grounds become obscured, the demon’s scuttling after them smashing the foliage as they advance.

They stumble past the angel statue and Zayn throws them into the ground roughly. A gasp is punched out of Harry as his back hits the solid ground, Zayn a firm weight on top of him. Around him, hunters dive through the trees desperately, wheezing and crying out as they land.

The demon’s jump at them and Harry feels everything freeze around him, feels his heart stop in his chest and his entire body go rigid as it’s snapping teeth launch closer.

The thing burns up with a blast of blinding light and Harry flinches, pushing Zayn off of him and crawling back on his palms. His face is sticky with blood and tears and dirt and he blinks wildly, head snapping this way and that as the demons smash into some kind of invisible wall and burn away.

“ _What is this?_ ” Harry screams at Zayn as he scrambles to his feet. “What the fuck are you thinking, leaving him?”

Zayn’s whole body is shaking, the boy leant on his hands and knees as his shoulders shake with hacking sobs. He looks up at Harry, his entire face contorted in pain, covered in blood and grime. “You think that was easy for me? You think I wanted to do it?”

Harry can’t breathe. He stumbles over the thick plants and tree trunks. Trying to find a way to see out onto the grounds again without passing the shimmering, iridescent wall. There are smoke and embers floating through the air, and everything smells putrid and acidic. Harry has to stop for a moment to gag, before he continues.

All around him hunters are crying out, jackets tossed to the ground as blood streams over their arms and chests. Some lay unmoving on the ground and Harry cannot breathe. There’s too much smoke, too much, just too _much_. He still has no idea what’s happening.

Finally, after he runs along the tree-line, he manages to settle himself into the curve of the forest, the clearing straight ahead. There are a small group huddled together behind him, desperately rubbing ointment over their burns and cuts with shuddering, pained gasps.

He sees Louis, standing in the centre of the grounds with his chin raised high and his teeth bared. It’s almost completely light again, the moon just a sliver against the sun. Harry wants to shout, wants to run, but his body is completely frozen, his throat completely constricted.

Louis’ mouth is moving but he can’t hear what he’s saying, and Agramon and Moloch are circling him like prey, the rest of the demons huddling around them restlessly. Harry’s whole body is aching and thrumming. He can feel his entire body shaking relentlessly, blood dripping down his fingers from the wound on his arm.

There’s a moment of stillness, of calm, when the moon slips away softly and the sun comes back into full view.

Agramon pulls away, smoke pouring from Its sharp mouth. It attacks like a snake coiled up tight before It lashes out savagely. A scream is ripped from Harry’s throat as It moves, red eyes full of murder and monstrosity.

Harry is knocked entirely off his feet, and he lets out a terrified wail as his ribs crunch against a fallen tree trunk, heat and light blinding him completely. A bright fire of copper explodes across the grounds, smashing into the shimmering wall that surrounds them and surging upwards with nowhere else to go. The heavenly fire _roars_ , and it sounds alive.

Underneath it, he can hear screeching, demonic, horrid screeching as the fire burns and burns and burns. The wall around them shudders, and the fire is pushes upward into the dome. Harry rolls over and blinks harshly, his eyes streaming. Through the bright light he can see the demons burning away into nothing, their flesh becoming tiny specks that the fire eats up with no hesitation.

The ground is vibrating beneath him, humming, and Harry cries as he watches the bright flames lick at the wall. He cries because he knows that the demons are dead. He cries because Agramon and Moloch are gone. He cries because Louis is among them somewhere, burnt up into the atmosphere.

After what feels like an eternity the fire begins to dissipate, sliding away from the invisible wall and crawling back to the centre of the grounds, like it’s being sucked away. Harry presses a hand against his ribs and tries to breathe, but it comes out strained and unnatural. Hunters lay around him with their hands over their heads, dirt and sticks covering them.

Harry sobs and his chest blooms with pain as he does so. It plays on repeat in his head, _he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead, he sacrificed himself, he’s dead, he’s gone._ He realizes now that those symbols were to keep the demons _in_ , to protect them all from the fire. Louis had known what would happen all along.

Somehow, the Inn is still standing exactly as it had been left.

Harry moves slowly onto his knees and looks out across the grounds. The grass is completely shrivelled up, all the blood and ichor burned away. Now there’s just an expanse of dry dirt. Everything else is gone. Gone.

“ _Fuck,”_ Harry whimpers as he clutches at his ribs, weeping. “ _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ ”

He stands shakily, leaning against a tree for support. It’s silent except for the pained cries that echo among the trees. Harry realizes now that when everyone had been running, some of them were carrying bodies, too. It sends another wave of nausea over him and he leans over, one hand on his knee and one pressed against his ribs as he vomits.

His ribs are screaming in pain but he can’t stop the bile that presses against his throat. He sniffs and wipes at his mouth, smearing blood accidently. It smells like metal and smoke and it makes his stomach roll dangerously again. 

Beneath the searing pain blooming in his head, Harry can feel a faint humming. He clenches his eyes shut and wills it away, his chest heaving as he begins to panic that there are more coming, that there’s some left over and they’ve come back to finish them off.

The humming intensifies, and Harry falls back onto his knees. Beside him, a few metres away on an old tombstone, a symbol starts to glow copper. Its hums and vibrates for a moment, before light shoots out of it and meets another four beams of brightness in the centre of the grounds, just in front of the church.

Harry shields his eyes as the five streams merge and bubble together, widening at the centre. He can barely make out a tall figure in the centre, and he has to look away. His eyes are stinging and wet and he clenches them shut and ducks his head.

Only when the light starts to dim, when he can see just darkness again, does he open his eyes.

Harry’s mouth falls open as the angel comes to rest against the ground, unfolding Its wings from around Its body delicately. Harry slowly realizes that the angel is Raziel, and his heart thumps against his broken ribs, his legs standing on their own accord.

The angel slowly lowers Its arms, and Its voice moves through the trees with a rustling breeze. Harry breathes out slowly as the sound washes over him, calm and deep and echoing. It’s all Latin but Harry is lulled by it, the slow curve of the words.

His eyes almost pop out of his head when the angel moves away, and he realizes that Louis is lying on the dead ground in front of It. The symbols begin to fade and Raziel casts a long glance over the grounds, before It shudders out of the world, white light shimmering around it as it disappears.

There are a few moments, after, when Harry is entirely frozen.

Then, he bursts through the trees, sprinting as fast as his broken ribs and exhausted legs will allow him. He spots Zayn, Liam and Niall on the other side all doing the same, their faces a mixture of shock and pain as they race towards his body.

Harry gets there first and he drops to his knees quickly, taking Louis’ face in his hands. There’s blood everywhere, all in his hair and on his chest and arms, dirt caked to his clothes. He looks entirely pale and sickly. But he’s here. He’s _here_.

“Lou,” Harry breathes painfully as he brushes Louis’ hair away from his face, tears dropping onto the boy’s cheeks. “ _Louis_.”

The other boys reach him now, and they all gather around him, Zayn pressing against Harry’s side. Harry can see the other hunters dragging themselves out of the foliage slowly cautiously. Louis’ skin is warm, and Harry sees his chest stutter, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and they’re sharp, fixed, electric. Alive.

“Oh, God,” Harry cries. He tugs Louis into his chest and buries his face into his neck, sobs ripped from his throat. “You’re alive. Fucking hell, you’re alive.”

Harry opens his arm and Zayn tucks himself into his side, pressing up close. There’s tears everywhere and Harry sees Liam and Niall embracing tightly above them. Louis rasps something unintelligible, and Harry pulls back, whipping at his eyes.

Louis winces as he shifts into a sitting position, his entire body shaking as he does so. Zayn guides him with a hand against his back and props him up.

“Are they gone?” Louis whispers, barely a sound coming out of his mouth.

“Yeah, love,” Harry says urgently. “You got ‘em. They’re gone.”

Relief floods Louis’ features, his brows crumpling slightly as he breathes sharply. When they open again they’re wet, but they’re a mix of sadness and hope, and Harry feels his heart expand. Liam and Niall huddle in close, and then it’s the five of them, all bloody limbs and tangled hair and smoke, but they’re together, and they’re okay, and Louis is _alive_.

Underneath his gratefulness, pushing against the pain in his ribs, is the loss. He looks out across the grounds, at the dead grass, and see’s teams hugging still bodies, sprawled out on the dirt. It makes his vision blurrier and he holds Louis closer, lets him press his sticky cheek against his neck. He doesn’t even want to think about what happened outside of their district and the Inn, about their patrol teams and the districts up north.

“I died,” Louis croaks. “I felt like my body was gone, like I’d gone someplace else.”

“It’s okay now,” Harry kisses his forehead sharply. “We’re all okay now. It’s over.”

They’re all still bleeding, and Harry can hardly breathe. Above them, the sun is sharp and clear despite the chill in the air, and it paints everything in a soft glow.

They won’t heal from this for weeks, months, maybe not ever. But Harry looks around at his boys, all of them with tears in their eyes and a strong grip as they press together, and feels the darkness lift from him. He feels those hands leave his neck, the trail down his spine fade away. He feels clean, and the buzzing in his mind is silenced for now.

Louis is warm against him, his eyes shut tight as he takes in deep breathes, savouring the air and pressing palms against the dirt and the boys around him.

They’re okay.

They’ve won.


	13. Epilogue

The clouds are just a blurred spot of colour in the distance, done with their hovering for the day. Now, the sun caresses the grass softly to coax it out of the ground millimetre by millimetre. It sucks the moisture away from the windows of the cars and makes the grounds look lush, despite the patches of dirt and dried out trees that are still scattered.

Harry shuts the boot of his car gently and lets out a long breath as he looks out across the grounds and up at the church. The cut on his arm has healed, but there’s now a fresh pink scar running up the outside of his bicep. Most of the bruises have faded too. Most of the physical injuries have faded.

After closing his eyes for a brief moment and inhaling the familiar smell of damp earth and trees, and the new smell of blooming flowers, Harry hauls the plastic bags at his sides up and begins to trudge towards the Inn slowly. The groceries knock against his knees and make the bags spin around so the loops are tight on his fingers. He doesn’t let his mind wander as he moves, just heads straight for the freshly painted doors and keeps his eyes away from the fizzled patches of dry soil.

When he’s safely inside Harry patters quietly to Simon’s office and pushes the door open with his shoulder. He peaks his head inside the warm, softly lit room.

“Hey,” Harry greets gently as he adjusts the bags looped around his hands.

“You’re back,” Simon comments, standing and rounding the desk. “Need some help?”

“Yeah, thanks. There’s a few bags left in the boot,” Harry says gratefully.

Simon pulls the door away from Harry’s body and they shift back into the hall. There are noticeable bags underneath Simon’s eyes, a thin scar on the underside of his chin and along unshaved, wiry jaw. They share a glance, a pause, acknowledging the tiredness and restlessness that’s still chasing them, still clinging onto them with all it can.

“Grab the others and meet me after lunch,” Simon says. It breaks the small moment between them, and Harry blinks and threads a finger through another loop. “I’ve got a mission outside Barnes for you.”

Harry’s heart spikes on instinct.

His alarm is not as well masked as he first thinks, because Simon glances at him wearily. “It’s nothing big. Just a little spike.”

“Right,” Harry breathes. He wills himself to breath, to let go of the knot that’s forming in his chest. “Right.”

“You don’t have to go if you can’t deal with it right now,” Simon says carefully. “I can ask another team.”

“No, no, I’ll go,” Harry says distractedly. The bags are pulling his shoulders down and it makes his neck ache slightly.

“If you’re sure,” Simon says.

Harry nods once, then turns to lug the heavy bags down the hall, grunting a little with the effort. It feels like there’s still a phantom ache in his muscles, every now and again. Like all the hits and movements never did wear off after it was all over. Not that Harry can really recall much from the aftermath of the eclipse.

Everything was very fuzzy, over the few days following. He was caught between a state of relief and heartbreak, between success and failure. He was injured, yes, but he wasn’t dead. His cuts are all stitched up, blossoming into blushing bruises and fleshy scars. You can’t stitch up a heart that’s been sliced in half, pump some air in and hope for the best. You can’t bring back the dead.

He remembers sitting on one of the beds in the infirmary across from Louis, watching him wince as the giant wound on his forehead was stitched up and the dry blood was scrubbed away from his skin. Harry had sat so still, had catalogued and memorized every facial expression and movement Louis had made, still in shock that he was alive, tangible and real right in front of him.

The Inn is hushed as Harry walks, most of the hunters in their rooms or huddled in the lounges with the doors sealed shut. They’ve only just started running their missions again, as have the other Inns. They were hit hard up north too, giant armies of Agramon’s demons scouring down from Newcastle and spreading. After the eclipse and the heavenly fire the demons seemed to drop off their radars for a week or two. A few were hiding out in the wetlands, but they were taken care of quickly.

Harry feels strange now, with levels back to normal. It hasn’t been like this for months.

When he fumbles his way into the dining room, plastic rustling, he sees Louis standing at the kitchen counter facing the wall. Beside him, steam floats out of the kettle in wisps as it bubbles. Harry can make out his side profile, eyes trained out the window absently. He’s wearing one of Harry’s jumpers that’s at least three sizes too big. It dusts the middle of his jeaned thighs and shows the tips of his collarbones. The light hits his face softly, tracing over the sharp cut that runs along the side of his forehead and down his temple into his hairline.

Tension seeps out of Harry’s bones as he observes him, replaced with comfort.

Harry approaches slowly, now aware that Louis is completely zoned out. The kettle has flicked off and his tea bags lay untouched. He’s looking outside across the grounds.

“Lou,” Harry says softly as he places the bags down on the tiles carefully, tins clinking and packets crumpling. He stands to full height and places a delicate hand on the back of Louis’ neck. Louis flinches and looks up at him, startled. “Hey.”

“Hey, sorry,” Louis blinks and fumbles with the kettle. He pours the water in too quickly and it sloshes over the sides.

“Alright?” Harry hums. He lets his fingers slide into the back of Louis’ hair, scratching gently. He relaxes under his touch with fluttering eyes.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” he whispers. His eyes slip close and he leans into Harry’s hand, sighing.

Harry leans in close and presses a faint kiss to the cut on the side of his face, nuzzling his nose against the hinge of his jaw. Content pools low in his stomach. Warmth and safety flush hot along his neck as he curls in close and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist.

“Simon wants us back at work,” Harry says as he presses another soft kiss underneath Louis’ jaw. “Do you feel ready?”

Louis lets his head loll back against Harry’s shoulder and he strokes his fingers along the back of Harry’s hands like a whisper. “I think so. I think I need to be.”

“We’ll be okay,” Harry says. It’s so quiet, spring light curling around and encasing them in a little bubble of heat.

“As long as we’re together,” Louis says, and he twists in Harry’s grip so he can look him in the eye. As he’s come to do now, Harry takes a moment to capture this moment in his mind, the exact colour of Louis’ eyes in the light and the little strands of hair that are spiking up on their own accord.

“Always,” Harry whispers as he leans down. They kiss softly, sweetly, unhurried. Louis tastes like sugar, and the skin of his neck is radiating heat where Harry’s palms lay and caress softly.

When they break away, there’s a tiny smile on Louis’ lips. His lashes are gold and his eyes are beacons, his freckles constellations. Harry wants to lay him down gently and run his fingers over them, map them out and give them names. He can, now. Louis is here.

They stand there for a moment, eyes flickering over each other’s faces and sweet smiles stuck on their faces. Only when Simon bustles in with an armful of bags do they pull apart just a tad. Louis keeps his hand resting in the dip of Harry’s waist, weighted.

It had been tense afterwards, when they’d helped each other inside and Simon had been trying to survey the damage, to reach out to teams and make sure that those who were alive were being properly looked after and cared for. It had lingered in Harry’s mind that Simon might ask him to pack his things any moment.

But it hadn’t happened, not when he’d been given the all clear on his injuries or after they’d held a service for those they’d lost. It didn’t happen at breakfast when they all huddled together quietly, or when they’d replanted the trees and watered the gardens and the grass together.

Harry almost feels like he’s caught between a moment, almost like he’s waking from a dream that he’s fallen in, and he’s bracing himself for an impact that isn’t really there. He doesn’t want to be hopeful, but it seems that Simon has decided to leave him be. And that also seems to have extended to Louis, too.

“Want help packing this away?” Simon asks with a huff of breath as he crouches to set the bags down.

“We’re okay,” Harry replies. Simon smiles and nods as he backs away, slipping from the room quietly.

“He’s not going to transfer you,” Louis says as he reaches for his cup. He sips his tea and looks up at Harry under his eyelashes.

“Maybe not,” Harry says with a raised brow. He casts a glance towards the door.

“We’ve been through too much,” Louis says. “The boys, too.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Harry says. He pulls Louis in close again, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist so he can glue his front to Louis’ back and press his nose against his neck.

“Dunno,” Louis hums. He slides one of his hands into Harry’s curls. “Think they were in Zayn’s room last I checked.” 

“Need to round them up after lunch,” Harry says into Louis’ skin.

“Lunch?” Louis questions.

Harry’s reply is a distracted hum. Louis’ nails scratch gently and he melts.

“You wanna go have a nap?” Louis asks softly, on an exhale of breath.

Again, Harry’s reply is a quiet hum, and he guides Louis away from the bench with him arms still locked tight around his waist. They stumble awkwardly and Louis lets out these tiny giggles when Harry tickles his neck with his lashes and his hair, pressing in firm kisses.

When they collapse on to the bed together, scattered patterns of light and shadow nestled around their warm bodies, Harry lets content seep into his skin, right down to his bones. Louis tucks himself against his chest and kisses the underside of his chin before he hides his face away, sighing happily.

Burrowed deep into the pillows and each other’s clothes, Harry slips his eyes closed and plays with the silky strands of Louis’ honey hair.

When sleep takes him under and darkness swallows him up, he finds comfort in it this time. There’s no claws dragging down his spine, and the only breath that he’s aware of other than his own is from Louis, gentle and constant against his neck. And in the darkness that floods his dreams, there’s always a spark, and burst of flame, a lick of light. Louis holds a torch, holds out a flaming hand, lets his skin glow.

In his dreams there’s always darkness, and in his reality there is too. There always will be, and he’s always going to be fighting against it. But there is no darkness without light. And here beside him, wrapped in his arms and pressing deep into his heart, is the brightest spark. It pulses around him and binds them together, it’s hope, and trust, security, care.

Harry thinks it could be love, too.

As long as Harry has this, as long as he holds fire in his hands, he isn’t afraid to walk through the dark. He wants to throw his palms upward, wants to pierce through the shadows. He thinks if he tries, he just might.

They’ll cast their light together, lead each other, press close and protect.

Around them the Inn stutters to life and the kitchen roars as lunchtime rolls in.

Harry and Louis remain resting together among a pile of blankets and entwined limbs, at peace and glowing in soft spring sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :''''''''''''(
> 
> it's over!!! it's done!!!!
> 
> if you stuck around until the end, thank you!!!!! this was sO much fun to write (seriously, i had way too much fun), and i'm actually quite proud i managed to finish it in time. 
> 
> if you'd like to leave me a comment, please feel free to because i would love to talk you all and hear your thoughts! and now that the fic has been revealed, please feel free to talk to me on [tumblr](http://fondleeds.tumblr.com/) and reblog the [masterpost!](http://fondleeds.tumblr.com/post/148559465860/well-cast-some-light-youll-be-alright-by/)  
> again, thanks so much for reading! xxxxxx


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